Remembering my father- Sardar Harnam Singh Serna

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Pop with my husband Avi-2016

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.

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.”

At Mashobra- April 2018

Finally, I want to share some of the best times of our lives with Pop. As recently as April 2018, my husband Avi and myself  prevailed upon and succeeded in taking Pop to spend some time with us at our home in Mashobra. That fortnight will forever serve as the best memory  as we walked, talked, went out on day trips, met up with friends, sat and enjoyed a drink on most evenings, watched movies  and then  talked some more. He shared so many thoughts, experiences and stories from his life and all we could do was marvel and thank God that he was peaceful and relaxed.

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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