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| My father-April 2018 |
My father Sardar Harnam Singh Serna left us on 14th of July 2018. It had been raining heavily almost all of the previous day, Friday, the 13th of July and with a distinct sense of foreboding, I just didn't want to go back home- all I wanted to do was stay at the hospital where he had been admitted for the last 4 days. As it happened that night passed and we came back, driving through pouring rain to meet him on the 14th morning and were with him as he left this world at about 1030 am.
At my father's Antim Ardas held on the 18th of July, in my Shraddhanjali to Pop, as we called my father, I was able to put together some top of mind thoughts which I'm sharing in this piece.
'It was almost exactly 9 months ago that many of you joined us at this venue, Gurudwara Shri Vasant Vihar, to honour the memory of our late mother Sardarni Satinder Kaur Serna but in this very fact lies the irony as well as its beauty. You see, its really hard for anyone who knew both my parents, to separate one from the other-the old saying, “two peas in a pod” is probably the most apt one here.
At my father's Antim Ardas held on the 18th of July, in my Shraddhanjali to Pop, as we called my father, I was able to put together some top of mind thoughts which I'm sharing in this piece.
'It was almost exactly 9 months ago that many of you joined us at this venue, Gurudwara Shri Vasant Vihar, to honour the memory of our late mother Sardarni Satinder Kaur Serna but in this very fact lies the irony as well as its beauty. You see, its really hard for anyone who knew both my parents, to separate one from the other-the old saying, “two peas in a pod” is probably the most apt one here.
Pop as we always called him, lost his zest for life after Mummy
passed and as many people told me thereafter, he was never really the same.
My father Sardar Harnam Singh Serna was born into a wealthy business family in Rawalpindi, now in Pakistan. His father Sardar Balwant Singh was a devout Radhaswami and his mother Sardarni Mainawati was a gentle and loving homemaker who passed away shortly after the birth of my younger Bhuaji, Devinder Luthra. Despite growing up in a loving family where every wish and desire was fulfilled, my father grew up as a highly disciplined boy.Punctual to a fault, highly disciplined, deeply religious, usually top of his class, his zest for outdoor activities was no less evident and he grew up to be the proverbial all rounder.
My father Sardar Harnam Singh Serna was born into a wealthy business family in Rawalpindi, now in Pakistan. His father Sardar Balwant Singh was a devout Radhaswami and his mother Sardarni Mainawati was a gentle and loving homemaker who passed away shortly after the birth of my younger Bhuaji, Devinder Luthra. Despite growing up in a loving family where every wish and desire was fulfilled, my father grew up as a highly disciplined boy.Punctual to a fault, highly disciplined, deeply religious, usually top of his class, his zest for outdoor activities was no less evident and he grew up to be the proverbial all rounder.
Sadly, all that was to change during the Partition in Aug 1947
when as a young teenager, he had to flee his home and the only way of life and
living that he had known till then. Pop often talked of Kushwant Singh’s famous
book Train To Pakistan, which closely mirrored his own life story .Moving from
one refugee camp to another, his family (in which his mother’s sister ‘Masiji’)
played a key role, finally reached
Bhogal in Delhi where they set up a small home. Some time later, they moved to
Jangpura, which became ‘home’ in a very
real sense for a few years. Winning scholarships came easily to him and he
completed his matriculation, finished school and joined Delhi College (now
called Zakir Hussain College) where he
topped his BA Class. Soon after
completing his MA in English Literature he was invited to teach at the very
same college, and then later moved to Khalsa College. An interesting insight of
that era and one that he always spoke of with a twinkle in his eye was the red
coloured bike that he bought at this time- one which became a source of immense
pride and joy for him.
Lasting friendships and strong bonds were forged by him during
this time and there are many interesting stories that his friends have shared viz.Mr
Amarjeet Singh as well as Mr Krishan Mohan, followed by Mr SR Wadhwa who worked
with him closely in the Income Tax Office in Meerut.
Pop joined the Indian Revenue Service opting for the Income Tax in 1957 and life
took a different direction. From teaching young men and women in the University
he moved into another zone and during his training at the Income Tax College in
Nagpur, many more lifelong friendships and associations were formed. Meeting
and marrying our mother Sardarni Satinder Kaur
in 1959 was one of the defining moments of his life.
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| My parents, soon after their marriage |
Born with a golden spoon in her mouth, Mummy,
fondly called Biba, was the eldest child of Sodhi Mahinder Singh and Mrs
Rajinder Kaur. From landed gentry, based in Ferozepur, Punjab, and direct
descendants of Guru Gobind Singh Ji from my grandfather's side, they were an
extremely progressive couple who firmly believed that education was the best
gift they could give their children. Accordingly, my mother was sent to Tara
Hall in Shimla while her brothers went to other reputed schools in India.
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| Mummy and Pop-14th July 2016 |
Married for 58 years, till my mother’s passing,
their relationship was unique- love, admiration, friendship and over and above
all this, a huge amount of respect for each other was what made this relationship so special. We
saw it in all their intearctions and I’m confident, all of you saw it too.
Following are some personal insights about Pop via extracts
from an article I had written on Father’s Day three years back.
‘Memories’
Waking up in agony and crying with an acute stomach pain at
night. I must have been about 7 years old and we lived in Calcutta at the time.
Pop came rushing in from
his bedroom and asked me what the problem was. All I could manage to say
was, " My stomach is paining Pop. Very badly."
As it happened that day, our car was at the garage for some
major repair and we had no means of transport. It must have been 2 am but my
father didn't hesitate. He just picked me up and ran.
Ran in the middle of the night for almost 1 km, till he reached the
home of our family doctor, Dr. Mrs. Pai. Ringing the bell with quiet
determination, yet ensuring that I was doing OK, my dad became a real hero in
my eyes that day.
What followed was not quite as exciting. As it turned out, I had
a case of severe indigestion
( not appendicitis as my parents had thought initially) and after a dose of medication and a quiet lie in, Dr Pai drove us back home.
( not appendicitis as my parents had thought initially) and after a dose of medication and a quiet lie in, Dr Pai drove us back home.
It was about 6 am by then after which my dad proceeded with his
normal day's routine- got ready for the office,and worked a whole busy day
while I rested at home waiting for him to return.
A bond was forged that day and one that continued for life.
Of course Pop did all the
normal things that dads do for their children.He held my hand as I learnt to
walk. He picked me up when I was low. He cared for me when I was sick. He gave
me a warm and loving hug whenever I needed it.
Over and above, he also did some interesting things such as
accompany me for my night shift at the General Overseas Service (GOS) at All India Radio, New Delhi where he
would sit in the newsroom watching, listening to and making interesting
conversation with all the famous newsreaders of the time-Lotika Ratnam, Vijay
Daniels and so many more.
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| With my father-Dec 2016 |
Incidentally, I must point out here that my
father was the only parent ever permitted to enter the "secure zone" of
All India Radio . The reason- he didn't want to deprive me of a wonderful
opportunity to experience the life of an English Announcer. Yet he wanted to
ensure that I was safe and that all was well.
Makes me wonder how many other dads would have
done this for their daughter?
I could go on and on- my dad told me and my
brother interesting stories inculcated a love for the fine things in life-
coffee, chocolates, eating out and enjoying being 'foodies' wherever we
traveled and so much more.
Many years later, in Sep 2013, and then again
in November of that same year, my mother had to undergo a major surgery. We
were based in Muscat, Oman at the time and while we were fully abreast with all
that was happening on a daily basis, we had planned to come to Delhi closer to
the surgery. Goes without saying, my dad had to bear the brunt of the pre op
tests, finalising the admission procedures, along with everything else.
Finally all that was done, the date for the
first surgery was set in September and we reached well in time for the
operation. My husband Avi and I spent time with Pop during the procedure and
realised that he was in acute mental stress. Giving him a tight hug, both of us
told him that all would be well, it was a mere matter of time.
We saw his eyes well up with tears and while he
quickly brushed them away, he hugged us back and said, "I really couldn't
have done this without you, my bacchas."
An unimaginably poignant moment and I don't
mind admitting that a few tears escaped my eyes too. Here was this strong man,
my dad telling us that he couldn't have done it without us.
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| Pop with my husband Avi-2016 |
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| With my parents and daughter- March 2016 |
Some extracts from 'Tell me a story' that I wrote for my
column My Take in the Muscat Daily.
Ever since people began to communicate with each other,
"Tell me a story" has been requested by both children as well as adults. There is something fascinating about sitting around and listening
to words which come out of someone else’s mouth and trying to put picture
associations to those same words.
My brother Navtej with Mummy
As
children, almost every night for many, many years, whenever we could manage, my
brother Navtej
and myself would wait for him to tell us one of his enthralling tales. I don't know how he did it, but all his stories, whether based on real life incidents or a creation of his imagination, were very exciting, taking us into a whole new world,where we could actually almost see and experience all that he used to talk about. Which is exactly where I started from, that great pleasure that a child gets when ‘visualising’ what is being told. It is also a matter of great credit to the storyteller for being able to generate such a response in a young and impressionable mind and this is something for which I’m able to give credit to my father only in retrospect.
and myself would wait for him to tell us one of his enthralling tales. I don't know how he did it, but all his stories, whether based on real life incidents or a creation of his imagination, were very exciting, taking us into a whole new world,where we could actually almost see and experience all that he used to talk about. Which is exactly where I started from, that great pleasure that a child gets when ‘visualising’ what is being told. It is also a matter of great credit to the storyteller for being able to generate such a response in a young and impressionable mind and this is something for which I’m able to give credit to my father only in retrospect.
Particularly
memorable were his stories about Air Marshal Arjun Singh and some of his
daredevil missions in the skies.Then there were the stories which taught us all
about our history, culture, tradition, valour along with great things that
people had done and achieved in this world. These were the stories about people
like Guru Gobind Singh, Shivaji Maratha, Rani Laxmibai and Netaji Subhash
Chandra Bose and Helen Keller.
Then of course, there were the funny stories, which consisted
of make believe characters and an extended storyline where the four of us as a
family would get involved in their lives and adventures. The real beauty of
these tales were that these were a never ending saga and could go on and on
endlessly, taking right up from where it had been left off the last time around
as there was no defined beginning or an end to these.
Keeping both of us enthralled for hours and hours on end,
then after one got over, repeatedly begging him, "Pop, one more, just one
more"
And he would always, always, always oblige.
Time passed and I became a mother.
Of a very bright child with an equally hungry mind.
One who demanded “Tell me a story” whenever she wanted to
hear one. So that I learnt to delve into the inner recesses of my mind and pull
out some of those I remembered my father telling me and when I ran out of those
I learnt to improvise, just as I remembered him doing. Creating some characters
with whom the family travelled together, went on adventurous trips with and did
a whole lot of fun stuff. One of the characters who became an all time
favourite with my daughter Neha was a little monkey who I called ‘Pikoo’ and
one who went wherever my mind decided to take him. Alternately, wherever my
daughter wanted him to go and so began the next generation saga along with a
new series of never ending tales.
Today,
as I'm reminded of those days, I'd like to take this opportunity to say “Thank
You Pop, for that's where I really learnt my love of storytelling and now that
of writing stories. I loved your stories then and love them even more now.”
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| At Mashobra- April 2018 |
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| Pop -Mashobra,April 2018 |
I close
with a beautiful line by Melody Beattie, one which is extremely apt for my
father.
“Live
from your heart, and share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal
people’s souls.”
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