Let me live unseen unknown...

The last of ‘Ode on Solitude’ (by Alexander Pope) was one of my father’s most favorite and often quoted verse and he truly lived it.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

It was 20 years ago that I realized what my father meant to the people whose lives he had touched. When exiting Mumbai airport, we saw a sea of people unknown to us, the air filled with deep palpable sadness, adults crying at the loss of their beloved officer. Up until then, he was just a humble, hardworking, diligent officer in the Indian Telecom industry – he was just my father.

My father was deeply interested in people. He was known to strike conversations with street vendors, learn about their personal life, the village they belonged to, the school their kids went to and often return empty handed as he would have passed on the grocery money to the vendor without buying a thing – empty handed, yet fulfilled. Going out of his way to be present for others was so natural for him that both the effort and it’s impact went unnoticed in my growing up years. Papa’s death was a turning point, when the excruciating pain of loss was mixed with a sense of unexplainable pride as I witnessed who he truly was through the eyes of others.

It seemed like the whole city was walking by his side for his final send off – traffic lights were stopped, streets cordoned off as his procession was led to the cremation grounds, something unheard of for a common man. His stature was way above his ranks or body frame. He was way more than just my father.

If I ever had to chose the way, I would chose my father’s death exactly how it played out that day in Andaman Islands on Oct 7. It was magical, as if intentionally made beautiful for a genuinely nice soul. This was to be his first and last ever vacation he took in his life.

In the morning of Oct 7, 2003, he would speak with his son in the US and his daughter in Mumbai – and cry both times. He was that kind of a father – his eyes would well up just at the mention of any of his kids. His pride, unconditional love, and warmth came through in every interaction with his kids. So, when his wife and youngest daughter (me) sat beside him, watched him cry when speaking with his older kids, it was nothing out of the ordinary. ?

Minutes before he passed away, he had emptied his pockets, handed over his diary, pen, wallet and asked me to plan the rest of the itinerary going forward. I did, I had to.

His last words, seconds before he slipped into my arms for his final hug, were in Sanskrit, which beautifully translates to ‘Life is but a moment’. Surreal and true.

How could I not love the way he left this world? He was filled with love, absolved of all worldly needs and responsibilities, his soul drifting into the calm blue seas of the Andamans. It was magical – except that it was 20 years too early.

One experience that stands out more than any other is the dinnertime conversations, discussing school, work situations, family commitments and endless stories peppered with moral lessons and Sanskrit couplets – though routine back then, these went on to define my own value system and the person I am today. Looking back, it is no surprise that papa did not fail to impart a life lesson on his last day which will stay with me forever. If I ever got a tattoo, this would be it – ‘Life is but a moment’!

The most beautiful aspect of my father was his authenticity – which I value to the core. Which brings me to why I have this personal story on a professional network. LinkedIn is not only my preferred social platform, it also has been my home for the last almost 5 years. The magic of this place is real – we, ‘LinkedIn-ers’ call it our culture. It has allowed me to bring my whole self to work. My leaders, managers (past and present), colleagues, peers have made it so easy for me to share my personal stories, own my struggles, and be my authentic self. #RelationshipsMatter is so core to my upbringing and the resonance I have with LinkedIn’s culture is unmatchable.

Hope each one of us finds a home in our professional lives that allows for dinnertime conversations with family to bleed into meaningful lunch conversations with colleagues.

With a soaked pillow, grateful heart and a smile on my face, Papa, I wish you immense peace.