A Quiet Hero

It’s been 2 months since my father -in-law passed away (we fondly called him Biya- a name my nephew, his first grandson, coined and it just stuck)– in his usual supportive way he went without any trouble, suffered a heart attack and it was all over. 87 years old, Alzheimer’s taking his memories away – anyone who met him knew how proud he was of his work to build Nuclear Power infrastructure for his country. He forgot his children occasionally, the grandchildren were a blur – little monsters messing his routine but he would laugh easily when they giggled and said sorry and put things back.

His wife, his pillar of support, his source of pride by his side for 58 years – my mother-in-law bore the brunt of the daily care, the failing memory, the irritation and ire, and the fierce independence that sometimes drove her mad. When we met them together (we live next door to them), it was heartwarming to see under all that marital banter how much love but more importantly respect they had for each other.

My father-in-law was the fiercest feminist I have met – his firm belief if you educate women in the household, the household prospers. He supported his wife, forced her to do her Masters in Medicine, encouraged her to work and looked after the kids when she did night shifts. For many people this is par for the course in today’s world but you have remember this is 65 years ago. He pushed his daughter to biotechnology and his pride in her was immense. He made sure his son got his values and supported me. His point being simple - she supports you so why should be any other way for her.

He would proudly flaunt how the women our family were all more educated then the men –his wife, his wonderful daughter and I, his daughter-in-law.

When I moved back to India to start KLAY my biggest supporters were my father and my father-in- law. My father always gave us a freedom and it forced us to be responsible about the choices we made. My father-in-law’s reason was different- he said you are coming to build infrastructure for the country- you must not think twice about it. He in his last days would ask me how was work, forgetting what I did and when I would say I help women and work with children – his eyes would light up and he would say it is the best kind of work anyone can do.

They just do not make them like that anymore.

Yesterday the plant he built in Kakrapar went critical in the 3rd Unit – this part of the plant was full indigenous – he learnt the technology with Canadian scientists - travelling in the mid 50s for over 2 days to get there (we today take these things for granted), learning a new culture, spending months and months absorbing and learning. He then trained up and built a team that could create similar technology in India and the 3rd Unit was built by this team.

He didn’t remember who his son was, referred to his wife sometimes as the lady who lives here, pointed at his loving daughter in his favorite photo from her marriage and said she lives far away with a proud smile ((forgetting she is in the US and had just visited him).

But would he have remembered his plant, his life’s work, his team? – Yes without doubt – he would have clapped with glee and pumped his fist in the air and said “We did it!!”

Yes – you did it Biya. We miss you and we hope you know wherever you are - our hearts are filled with pride for your achievement, and with gratitude for your quiet and determined support.