Legacy: Letters from eminent parents to their daughters by Menon, Sudha (electric book reader .TXT) 📕

When you came back at the age of 5, we had a ritual of tucking you and your brother, Rohan, into bed every night. Mostly it was your mother who did it, but on the rare evenings that I came home early, I looked forward to doing it. Remember the stories that I shared with you on those nights? They were always about our train journey from Bangalore to Hubli and all the stations that came along the way. You were 5 then and Rohan only a year and half. Each time, I would add a new imagined anecdote that happened at a station, you two would be enthralled all over again. Do you remember the story about our trip to Krishnarajasagar, the jokes, that brought loud laughter even though they were oft-repeated? The three of us would be howling with laughter and your mother would stand at the bedroom door and look on, amazed at our revelry.

I am often asked about the qualities that I have imparted to my children. I tell them that it is your mother who shouldered this great responsibility and I am ever so grateful to her for bringing you up to be the fine individuals you are. She communicated values more by action than by talking about them. She taught Rohan and you the importance of simplicity and austerity. There was this one instance, in Bangalore, when you were selected for a school drama for which you were required to wear a special dress. It was in the mid-eighties, Infosys had just begun its operations, and we did not have any money to spend on non-basic goods. Your mother explained to you that we would not be able to buy the dress and that you would have to drop out of the performance. Much later, you told me that you had not been able to understand or appreciate that incident. We realize it must have been a bit drastic for a child to forgo an important event in school, but, we know you learnt something important from that—the importance of austerity.

Life has changed for us since then and there is enough money. But, you know, our lifestyle continues to be simple. I remember discussing with your mother the issue of sending you kids to school by car once we were a little comfortable with money, but your mother insisted that Rohan and you go to school with your classmates in the regular autorickshaw. You made great friends with the ‘rickshaw uncle’ and had fun with the other kids in the auto. The simplest things in life are often the happiest and they are for free.

You would often ask me why there was no television at our home when the rest of your friends discussed stuff they watched on TV. Your mother decided early on that there would be no TV in our home so that there would be time for things like studying, reading, discussions, and meeting friends. She insisted that it was important to create an environment conducive to learning at home. Therefore, every night we dedicated the time between 8 pm and 10 pm to pursuits that brought the family together in a productive environment. While Rohan and you did your schoolwork, your mother and I read books on History, Literature, Physics, Mathematics, and Engineering, or did any office work.

It is quite a well-known fact that when a daughter gets married, a father has mixed feelings about it. He hates the fact that there is somebody else in his daughter’s life with whom she shares her affections—a smart, confident, younger man who gets the attention that was earlier his alone. I, too, was a little sad and jealous when you told us you had found your life partner. But when I met Rishi and found him to be all that you had described him to be—brilliant, handsome, and, most importantly, honest—I understood why you let your heart be stolen. It was then that I reconciled to sharing your affections with him.

A few months ago, you made me a proud grandparent. If holding you in my arms for the first time gave me indescribable joy, seeing Krishnaa, your lovely daughter, for the first time at your home in Santa Monica, was a different experience altogether. I wondered, whether from now on, I would have to behave like a wise, grand old man! But, then I realized the bonus to growing older and becoming a grandparent. I would have the joy of pampering a child silly! Besides, you know what they say about grandparents and grandchildren having a common enemy—the parent! I am convinced Krishnaa and I will eventually exchange notes and crib about you and be completely on the same page when it comes to criticizing you!

Jokes apart, Akshata, having Krishnaa will bring home to you the magnitude of the job at hand. In some ways, you already know it. Remember that day when you wrote to me saying how, for the first time in your life, you knew that I was not completely crazy for calling you up almost every day when you were studying abroad, checking on your well-being, checking up on whether you were eating well and resting, and making sure you were comfortable in every possible way? I was amused when you told me you were doing the same with your infant daughter, checking on her every few minutes, worrying if she was fed well, and sleeping enough, even though you know that she sleeps most of the day and night! That is what being a parent means, my dear.

As you begin the next phase of your life Akshata, I would like you to look back at the time you and Rohan were growing up. Your mother, when she realized that her job as an engineer with a corporation kept her away from you both for long hours, quit the job and decided