Da, Dad, Daddy

You guessed it, my dear Readers; my subject for this blog is “Father” and fatherhood.

In many religions practised around the world, God is most often referred to as “Father”. The most well-known prayer starts with the invocation: “Our Father”. If we are believers, we can also vouch for the sanctity and reverence that is attached to the word when it refers to our earthly sire. And yet, throughout human history, fathers and sons have often not seen eye to eye. Who or what is responsible? Generation gap? Sibling rivalry? Motiveless malignity? If we are truthful to ourselves, we must admit that we, too, have had our reservations. That’s human nature and, alongside that, free will. Good old Adam chose, he made a conscious choice, and the consequences are still reverberating, wherever human beings exist. We don’t choose, the choice is made for us, for better or for worse, and there’s no way around that.

But think about it more seriously. Are we to bear the burdens of generations long gone? If we think we are forced to do so, we are often indulging in self-pity and self-loathing. Think of all the children who have nothing—no home, no family, no parent. Aren’t we much better off than them? That is also part of the message that comes from showing the other cheek.

On the 17th of October, 2025, I launched my fifth book. I gave it the title “FORGET”, and it was launched, privately, in The New College, Chennai. The subject of the story is my Dad, but I also examine the nature of “heroism”. I also touch upon motives that result in heroism, and heroic action, and mourn the fact that more heroes are forgotten by history and humanity, as was the case with my Dad. The book’s cover has a sketch of my old man, in all his military grandeur, while the back cover has a photograph of his tombstone, to be found in St Stephen’s Cemetery, in Pallavaram.

It is a slim volume, but, to me at least, it carries the embedded message that heroes and heroism are concepts that few really understand. I brought to life a forgotten chapter in the history of World War II, but the response I got was abysmal. It sold less than 100 copies, but, I’m guessing, the volume is now tucked away in some corner of sundry homes, there to lie dormant, not completely dead.

I did get some feedback, too. One person, to whom I gave an autographed copy, told me, very casually, that he had “glanced through it”. Another promised to get back to me after a week or so, but when the time came, he apologised, citing time constraints. A third had “read it in parts”, stating that what my Dad told him about the War was more exciting than my narrative. And finally, one reader took pains to go to the history books to see if what I had written was factually correct, and not just fibbing on my part.

All said and done, I think I did an honest job in bringing to light one of the many instances when history has just blinked. Remember, a blink is capable of erasing swathes of history, and my slender volume is just one example.

Take a closer look at the photograph I have appended. It shows my Dad standing in front of Monty’s famous tank in the Imperial War Museum, in London. The picture was taken in 2001, when my Dad visited England, and it shows a hero who outlived his hero and has the evidence to prove his bonafides. Incidentally, my Dad was one of the many technicians to service the most famous battle tank in history, and I seriously doubt if any of his fellow “Craftsmen” or Cfn, as was his designation, kept a log that is so accurate, so impersonal, and so verifiable as my Dad’s. And yet, they forgot.

My book is called “Forget”. As long as my book survives, it will remain a “present-tense” narrative. Some time, perhaps, the mistakes of the past may be rectified. That is my hope and my wish.

PS: Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery died on 24th March, 1976. It took my Dad almost 25 years to leave a photograph for posterity. It took me almost 50 years to wake up from my slumber, not sleep.