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Sunday, 16 October 2016

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HEART&SOUL
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Lessons From My Father
A son treasures all that he has learnt
By Kannan Pasamanickam
Heart&Soul/Star2, Sunday 16 October 2016
MY father passed away at the age of 94 just past midnight on May 2 this year. Dad was bom in a small town in Tamil Nadu, India. He was a self- made man who had to fend for him­self from an early age.
An only child who lost his mother before his teens, he was brought to pre-independence Malaya by his father, as a child of eight in 1928. He later returned to India to study and returned to Malaysia in his teens to work.
He initially worked as a junior clerk in a money lending firm and this created a lasting impression on him, explaining the meticulous way he kept accounts throughout his life and his thrift when spending money. He kept his daily spending money in a small envelope and every cent spent during the day was recorded on the envelope.
At the time of his death, he was one of the most senior retired politi­cians in the country, having served in the state legistative assembly and in the senate.
As children, my sister and I wit­nessed the many parties at our small, unpretentious home where our late mum cooked and dad host­ed the early politicians and leaders of the various communities who made up our country.
Dad’s cordial links with the politi­cal masters of the day earned bene­fits for his community.
During his wake recently, many people came to tell us of his many contributions and help it made us feel very proud.
Dad worked very hard through­out his life. He trained to become an accountant. As many of his genera­tion did, he believed in investing in property for a rainy day - he put aside what little he could for this. I was repeatedly told the story of my mum volunteering her wedding jewellery to be pawned so that he could make the down payment for the first piece of property that he bought in 1959. He ensured that my sister and I got a good education.
Grandpa was a simple clerk with little means. Dad knew that the only way to raise his siblings from pover­ty was through education.
Though he was an only child with no financial legacy to support him, he took it upon himself to help educate the children of his stepbrothers and stepsisters who were left behind in the little town in India.
Thanks to Dad’s efforts, this next gen­eration is successful academically and have several profes­sionals. Their successes made him proud and gave him a deep sense of satisfaction later in life. He also wanted to uplift his community through education, hence his participation in several school boards and societies. We were taught to share God’s gifts and the fruits of your labour with the less fortunate, and that was a sacred duty..
Dad was rich in the knowledge of the traditions and history of the Indian community in particular and Malaysia in general. He was a gifted storyteller and orator - his oratori­cal skills were in great demand at political meetings and weddings.
People came up to tell me how, up to the last days of his life, he had regaled them with stories from our cultural fables. He loved to advise and encourage the younger genera­tion -1 was very touched when a Malay MP told me at Dad’s wake that he considered him a father, because he was one of the earliest and oldest politicians to encourage and advise him when he was nomi­nated to stand for elections.
A group of Indian children came to sing hymns at his funeral; they told me later that Dad had been sup­portive of their orphanage for sever­al years. A Chinese banker with an international firm based in Singapore sent me a message of sup­port - he told me he was “blessed to have known Dad and that his family would miss Dad’s wise words and humour”. This gentleman’s family and mine have been friends for three generations.      
Dad had many good friends from every race in our country, evidenced by the mourners at his funeral. At 94, he was one of the oldest citizens of Muar, the town he loved so much.
He lived frugally, repeatedly advising us of the virtues of thrift and the evils of materialism.
He kept reminding us not to for­get our very simple beginnings; this story of one of his favourite aunts in India was repeatedly told.
When he was a child, Dad’s family was so poor that even having fish for their meals was a luxury. This aunt, who lived in the countryside, would catch fish in the padi field, then cook it and walk 10km (there was insufficient money for bus fare) to feed the little mouths in Grandpa’s home.
The times that Dad returned home to visit his relatives in India, the first thing that he did before entering the ancestral village was to change into a simple dhoti and cot­ton jippa - this was to ensure that his relatives and friends who had remained behind in the village, would not suffer the pain of jeal­ousy from seeing the external signs of the success he had achieved in a foreign land. I was often told that we should not for any reason be the cause of misery in another’s life - this is one of the lessons learnt from my father that I treasure.
Nurture your brain but not your stomach, was an Indian adage that he loved to quote.
He loved to read. When insomnia troubled him in the last years of his life, it was not unusual to see him seated and reading his favourite Tamil novels late into the night.
God blessed my father with a long life with the physical ability to con­tinue to do all that he liked, to the very end.
He was a disciplined man. It was probably around 1978, when I was a young doctor, that Dad first com­plained of feeling chest pains while climbing up stairs - he asked me what he should do. He was then a two-pack-a-day smoker. I told him that he had blocked arteries and that he had to stop smoking. The next morning, he quit and kept off cigarettes for the rest of his life.
Two weeks before he died, I invit­ed him to my house in Petaling Jaya for our annual ancestral prayers - it was one of the rare times that he stayed overnight in my house. We had a good family dinner and the following day after eating his favourite lunch prepared by my wife, Dad left for home. That was the last I was to see my father alive.
Though increasingly frail, Dad went to his office until the last week of his life - retirement was not an option he considered. He continued with his daily walking exercises up till the morning of the last day of his life. We were told that he spent the last two weeks of his life busy con­ducting meetings and giving advice to younger people.
On the night of his death, Dad chatted with friends after dinner and then went to bed. His life ended soon after.
My sister and I will remember his lessons and continue his legacy.

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