To Tatya with love..

Tatya, that’s what we call him- never recall calling him azoba(marathi for grandfather), Tatya he is for everybody. ..

Friends (and fans) he has many, he proudly claims that if he heads off on a journey and eats his three meals a day at three different houses (where he would be whole heartedly welcomed) everyday he would not have to come back home for an year. .I believe him.

With countless friends he has countless stories to tell. We have grown up listening to all his fascinating stories and the reminiscences of his past. He is also the one responsible for making algebra interesting for us! From arithmetic to Shakespeare verses to Sanskrit shlokas he was our door to the vast world of knowledge..He's a fun person to be with, a gifted story teller, with a super strong memory. Even today, everything is afresh in his mind-names people, places dates, events pooja hymns, everything…..

Tatya was born in 1918 in Devas, a small town in Madhya Pradesh that time a princely state under the rule of Pawars. He was the 8th child I guess and was thus named Damodar (Another name for Krishna). Born in a humble Brahmin family,He grew up learning Sanskrit verses at home and Wordsworth and Shakespeare at school….We have experienced his childhood countless times through his numerous kissas. All his stories are so amusing; it’s hard to believe that he's lived it all..!! I remember him telling us about his 4th grade English school teacher who taught the class a poem called Daffodils. Since none of the young kids in Devas had ever seen a Daffodil flower, the teacher painstakingly made trips to all the public libraries available to find a photograph. Once he found one, he neatly drew a Daffodil with yellow chalk on the black board for all to appreciate the beauty of this unique flower..

He fondly remembered that teacher when he saw a Daffodil flower for the first time in his life (some 60 years later) on a trip to Kashmir…

Such is his memory and his love for people..I found that poem online..

To Daffodil by Robert Herrick.

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we

Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,

We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything.

We die As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning's dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

I hope to see him soon, leisurely squatting on that rocking chair with his evening cup of tea, trying to make sense of those clues in the Sunday times crossword…

Happy 91st Birthday Tatya! :)

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