Papa died on 10th of January 2008 and it not only shattered me but also my family members. He was 82 years old. Some say, "At least you had him for that long." Yes, I fully agree with that. But he was a father who constantly communicated with us, loving, caring and let me forget with a very good sense of humour.
Papa was born in Kerala, India and had two older sisters (Julia and Anna) and an older brother, Anthony. Except for his brother, he and his sisters left for Singapore and later they came to Malaysia to work in 1950's. Yes, that was the era of the black and white movies, very decent dressings, black and white photographs where men and women seldom smile.
Although Papa's father was a headmaster of the local school, but at that time opportunity knocked on many Indians doors and so naturally he had to do what was best for his future. He was a qualified land and engineering and was first sent to Singapore to work for the government. A few years later he was posted to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to work for the government
His family had arranged a marriage for him and he returned to Kerala, India to marry Victoria and after the marriage he brought my mother to Kuala Lumpur. My mother had never left the country and it was not easy for my grandmother and my uncles. (My mother was the only daughter). My father was a devoted husband and a father to two boys and two girls.
We were planning a trip to met our maternal grandmother for the first time as a family but the intended trip did not work as planned. Amma passed away suddenly (epilapsy fit) as she was preparing our breakfast and Papa was away at that time. What saddens me is that I do not remember her face, her voice, her touch, her scent and everything about her. I was two when Amma passed away. Except for her black and white pictures I can see what she looks like.
I want to remember her. The biggest consolation came one day when Ammamma (Amma's mother) told me one day I have her voice and character. Better still I laugh like her! Perhaps this is a wonderful gift from God which I will be forever grateful. When I get fed-up of listening to my voice I can listen to my sister, Patricia's voice which is also identical to Amma's.
Growing up
Patrick was the eldest, the came Patricia, Fredrick (Fredy) and not so finally me. Fredy is two years my senior and was quite a handful but of course Fredy will never admit that. Fredy and I were partners in crime - we were always up to some mischief or the other. It was either scribbling or colouring on our Wall of Fame (any part of the home but our favourite was always the guest hall). We would always test Papa pencils and by the time he gets home we would pretend at first, and finally putting the blame on each other.
Patrick and Patricia were heaven sent saintly children so there is actually nothing much to say nor comment on their innocence.
Shortly after Amma's death, Papa left us with Ammamma to heal her sorrow. She was delighted to have us with us. Strange, I remember bits and pieces of this part. Ammamma's neighbour's house, the well, crying and Papa carrying me when we were at the doctor's office (in Kerala). I doubt Ammamma considered us a handful no matter how active we were.
Papa left us there and he returned to Kuala Lumpur and I can imagine how lonely he was in an empty home - no wife and children. It certain was painful for Papa but I am certain he knew how sad Ammamma was - she lost her only daughter. That was truly an act of LOVE. It was not easy but God truly helped him cope with those lonely days. Fortunately for him his sisters lived at least 20 minutes away.
(Next Papa's remarriage)
