An uncle to remember.

My paternal uncle, my chithappa, died almost exactly 24 hours ago (not COVID-related) – he was my father’s immediate next brother and the fifth of the eight siblings.

The word ‘chithappa’ in tamizh, and equivalent words in many other Indian languages, indicates a younger father – literally speaking. My chithappa truly was that. When we lived abroad, he would send us weekly letters, in his characteristic handwriting, in impeccable English. He would keep us informed of all family developments, births, deaths, career progressions, marriages etc. His home was our base in India. We never had to think twice – all would be in readiness, his home was ours and we never once felt we were guests – we have stayed with him in Hyderabad, Calcutta and Madras. Hats off to my aunt who was no less in her affection and took care of all the practical logistics within the home when the four of us would land up, at least once a year, if not twice, for a few weeks at a time.

He cremated my father, in the absence of my brother, our family following the tradition that bodies should be consigned to the flames as soon as possible after death. When my brother and I arrived after our trans-continental flight, at an unearthly hour about 36 hours after the demise, my chithappa and chithi were the first to meet us at the door of my parents’ house – that he was overwhelmed with feeling was so clearly visible but he kept a dignified silence knowing that there was probably nothing meaningful anyone could say. After the following day’s ceremonies, he told my brother and me, individually, that we were never to feel that we were fatherless. That he was there for us. We knew that he meant it too.

At the upanayanam (sacred thread ceremony) of my nephew and my son some years later, both my chithappa-s ensured that they were available constantly just as my father would have been had he been alive then.

My chithappa followed the age-old habits of staying in touch and keeping up contact. Whenever I came to Chennai, my aunt and he would visit me. I would visit, of course, but he always did as well, and usually within 24 hours of my landing – he even timed it so well that it was neither late in the evening nor in the afternoon when we might be sleeping due to jet lag – such small things, seemingly, but the thought behind was so touching. In the past several years when I have been in Chennai continuously, he would visit impromptu like the olden days. Anytime any other relatives visited, he would take the onus of bringing them to our homes. When his daughter, my cousin, visited India, he would insist that she visited all of us cousins in the city. He organized lunches and dinners where the entire extended family would gather. When my brother’s, and my, children were born, he was there at the first available opportunity and did everything an uncle was supposed to do.

My father-in-law passed away barely three months after my father.  During his funeral, on the days my mother had to be at my father’s monthly ceremonies, she requested chithappa to be on hand, physically, at my home. She barely had to ask and he was there. She could also count on him to handle any issues with delicacy and diplomacy as is needed in these situations – grief does not manifest itself logically.

As my son prepared to embark on studies abroad, I took him to chithappa for some sage words of advice.  He told him to not just stick to his chosen area of study but to read widely, stay on top of current affairs, read Shakespeare (“so many quotes in it are timeless and ever valid”) and above all, to stay in touch with more than just his immediate family. “Call up your cousins and other relatives. You HAVE to put in effort to stay in touch. It is important. It does not happen automatically.” My son was touched. “Amma, he is so sincere,” he said. I could also tell him that he was somebody who had walked the talk. He was an incredibly bright and intelligent person, a gentleman in every sense of the word, and one very successful in his career. But for us, he was just our uncle.

He was there with us for all the tragedies in the entire family’s lives – three siblings, three brothers-in-law, and more, preceded him in death – he was there, composed, and always the picture of decorum. I mention the tragedies first, because success and happiness have many friends but not the less savoury aspects of life. Needless to say, he was there for all the happy occurrences as well, besides organizing many himself.  As long as they were in the same city, he visited all his siblings regularly – as I said, he believed in physical connection.

Oh, I will miss him so much.