Remembering Jayant uncle

During my early days as a journalist, I had the fortune of attending a talk by Gulzar. Someone from the audience, much younger than him, stood up and asked him a question. Unable to comprehend what was being asked, Gulzar politely said to the person "Beta can you repeat it?" For no apparent reason I started crying. Maybe it was the kindness in his voice or may be because he called a perfect stranger beta, unknowingly granting the comfort of childhood .

The incident has stuck in my mind after so many years because I remember hoping that someday I wish someone will call me beta. My own father is unfortunately plagued by his own demons to express any kind of affection through words. 

That being said, for all its stings and thorns, life can be generous most times. It has been especially generous to me, or so I think. I have been singularly fortunate to have met some of the nicest, kindest, honest, sincere and always immensely loving people.

Jayant uncle fit the bill on almost all those counts and some more. I first met him and Lalita aunty around 1996 when I was on the cusp of finishing a masters, Rani in the midst of hers and Anand and Vivek had seamlessly entered our circle. He was generous to a fault, smiling and called me beta. He continued to refer to me as beta or betu from time to time occasionally adding my first name if he remembered. 

Back then he would send recorded talks on management topics to Anand and Vivek who were busy studying MBA. Anand as a full time pursuit and Vivek, our very own dashing Marlboro man, as a part time arrangement. But then again Vivek was juggling multiple things including a full time job and we spoke with and about him with stars in our eyes. 

He was fun, sarcastic, scarcely angry and hyper friendly. He sponsored our occasional trips to the watering hole and ensured we went home safe and sound afterward.  Anand was the same minus the hyper friendly part and tended to get more peeved than Vivek did.

Oh yes, I was on the topic of Jayant uncle's recorded lessons. When I first heard of it from Anand, I thought now here is one caring father and how lucky these two boys are to have him. They of course did not share in my perception. They reacted as most loved children do - wondering why would the father not leave them alone.

Jayant uncle never objected to their grumpiness, or so I imagined. He continued to do what he thought was necessary and required. And the boys continued to do what they thought they were entitled to. And Rani and I became the fortunate bystanders who watched this perfectly loving family tick and send out loud grandfather clock gongs from time to time.

There is no definite saying when the bystander line got erased and we entered the Godbole household and family. Rani more definitely and formerly as Anand's wife and me as a follow on. But my non formal entry did not rob me of any participation or place. I was equally a part of all discussions, opinion taking rounds, advises, talk, etc., in short, I was as much and continue to be a part of the Godbole family as Rani is and none of this was or is based on an iota of formality. There was an instant connection which has been fortified over the years.  

Right from being woken up by Aaji's vakratunda alarm to hearing stories of her dog as she was growing up, to be chided for wasting precious milk cream by putting it on the face instead of eating it, I have felt part of the fold. These are relations not forged by blood but a mutual love which surpasses and penetrates everything which stands in its way.

I have gone on several rounds of morning walk with Jayant uncle as we pushed Uttara's pram on the Cuffe Parade promenade. The walk would be timed and our conversation limited, but he always took genuine interest in what I had to say and offered suggestions to my opinions in the same way. 

When Vivek tragically passed away I met aunty and uncle. Jayant uncle was eating peanuts when I met him, and as was his habit, he immediately shared what was in his hand with me and said you lost your friend. His ability to understand and appreciate my grief made the loss heavier. It is a tragedy to lose a friend and one which will go away with me.

He had an esoteric choice in food. I am yet to master the fine art of cooking pohe with carrots, peas, almonds, nuts, just about anything and then hold court on how the said pohe are not only good to taste but nutritious as well. But I believe that is a talent only a few amongst us will have. He had an esoteric interest in reading as well. I recall reading about Nazca lines and the Chariots of Gods at the Cuffe Parade house. It was one of his books which he treasured and discussed. 

He and aunty became ersatz parents to little Uttara and Maitreya when Vivek passed on and they took up his role with utmost sincerity, putting away their own grief. I am robbed of words to even attempt to state the massive strength of character, spirit and love they have displayed. 

When Cookie got married, he stood at the door distributing akshada to guests. Happily participating in a task he thought he could do. There was not a moment of hesitation where he thought if he should be doing it, no ego, nothing. 

When Loki did a disappearing act, the look of relief on uncle's face surpassed Anand's after he was found. Uncle was worried that the poor animal would be suffering because of our oversight, but none of that was to happen. Loki is an over smart cat and does things which are inappropriate from time to time, and his disappearance was one such time and act. Had it not been for aunty's conjuncture that he could have possibly hidden inside the drawer under the bed, Loki would have been declared officially lost that day, sending his babi on an unnecessary guilt trip.

The news of Jayant uncle's passing away was too sudden. He had a massive heart attack and could not be revived. I could hardly hear or understand what Rani was saying over the patchy network. The gravity of what has happened is yet not sunk in - that is the benefit of staying hundreds of miles away from home. The sadness peeks out from time to time, but the definite vacuum the loss has created is yet to be encountered. I guess that will only happen when I visit cottage land and not see uncle in the familiar setting - in his loose cotton shirt and trademark shorts with neatly parted hair and crinkly-eyed smile asking me, "how was your flight beta?" 

Not hearing beta in his voice will probably get through the message that Rani was trying to tell me on 4th jan.