“Your memory is a lifetime's treasure.” | Guest Essay by Dr. Anamika
Reflections on father's day
This newsletter comes from Sahitya Academy Award winner Dr. Anamika. You can check out her previous podcast here and read the essay below.
“Your memory is a lifetime's treasure.”
(This line from my father's song is dedicated to him. Returning what's yours, what do I lose?)
One of the most mystical scenes in the world for me has been the sight of two lamps floating on the river waves—quite like a father-daughter or a mother-daughter duo- drifting together for a while, then separating, one ahead, one behind, and finally parting in a way that one ends up at one ghat, the other at another. As a child, I used to cry watching this scene, and my father would lift me into his arms and explain, “Oh, dear, I will never part from you! Even if the clay of the lamps crumbles, their flames do not part! Before extinguishing, they take a quantum leap to acquire a seat in the lap of that old sire called the sky. The sky is the home of all flames; in the state of nirvat or extinction, all flames gather and chatter like those sisters in your maternal family—grandfather, uncle, mother, and your five aunts, how they chat! Look at those stars—they are probably the stools on which the flames place themselves!
My poet-father, Shyamnandan Kishore, had the remarkable ability to convey a profound message playfully and effortlessly. In his songs, he was as simple and beautiful as he was in life. No matter how weary someone was, talking to him, listening to his songs, would fill them with joy. Even today, when I bump into his students, colleagues, or readers/listeners they would fondly remember how listening to his songs or reading him would suddenly uplift their spirits, from him they learnt how even the harshest truths could be spelt without the least of bitterness.
Another example comes to mind. Every day, he would wake my brother and me at dawn, massaging our feet and reciting a verse or song. The habit of waking up at dawn stuck so well that even today I wake up at four in the morning. It feels like, after bathing, wearing his dhoti, he is standing before me—sometimes Mother I can even smell that talcum powder he would apply without properly drying himself, which would make mother burst into laughter That day, she even scolded him when seeing us still curled up in bed, all of a sudden he said,” Any day can be the last day of life, just like any meeting can be the last one. So, give your best shot every day.
My brother insisted hard that at least for higher studies I must be sent to Delhi University , without this exposure I won’t grow up, it is high time that I understand the ways of the world a bit. It was tough for my father to leave me alone at the girls' hostel gate, but to make me laugh, he said, “Look at that, the whole family of parrots is sitting proudly on the Pakar tree. If you miss home a lot, look at them—the gentlest, least-eating parrot will be your mother. Imagine the noisiest of them as your father—that’s me. I will call you every morning and will write letters. There’s nothing to worry about!”
Saying this, when he turned to leave, I suddenly remembered what he had explained a few days ago, “Any meeting can be the last one..!” A pang hit my heart, and I ran after him, but by then the taxi had already started. What an indication of fate! Indeed, that was our last meeting. Just at 51 this remarkable (Atmaram) parrot took a sudden flight beyond the body and was seen no more
His mentor, Hazari Prasad Dwivedi, had come home and had suggested a name for me . Pragya Paramita was that name but the echoes of Nirala's collection must have resonated more with Papa, so envisioning his daughter as someone beyond name and form, an unbound, nameless power, he got me admitted to school as Anamika Any kind of narrow-mindedness pained him, and he firmly believed that challenges deepen the dimensions of life , and inherent potentials in humans blossom amid challenges. All his poems highlight the ironies of life, but without losing hope:
“Will a fleeting cloud stop the breaking of the dawn?
Will just a few straws stop the storm ?
Expand the horizon, open the face of the dawn
Give the new hesitant sun a wider horizon.
“विभा की फूटती लौ को तुनुक घन रोक लेंगे क्या ?
महज़ दो- चार ये तिनके प्रभंजन रोक लेंगे क्या?
क्षितिज को और विस्तृतकर, अरुणमुख और विवृत कर,
नये युग के झिझकते सूर्य को अंबर बृहत्तर दे)