Bapa
Sometime last week, I was checking out a new meditation app and it told me to think of a happy moment. Amongst others, one of the ones that flashed across my memory was my Bapa — Bacchu Bapa as he was popularly known.
The memory of him sitting / sleeping on the floor, head on round pillow on Sunday mornings — surrounded by 10 different newspapers and me with my head on his stomach reading a book or something. — How innocent were those days
But this story is less about my childhood and how I spent my Sundays, but more on how majestic was that man.
He had no children, out of choice and we became his children, my dad his oldest, me his youngest — Total unparalleled, unconditional love.
Bapa was my dad’s brother, older brother, but he was devoted and doted upon by the whole family and especially by my dad, almost akin to how Lakshman doted on Lord Ram. As time went by, I began to understand the reason of that kind of an almost “ idol “ worship.
He was cerebral to the next level.
Was trading — gold silver by postcards to US and UK in the early 70s and 80s, in a manner and way (profitable) that this todays fin wits and twitter heroes would never understand.
Used to ship and trade Castor Seed — Oil & other oilseeds and competed head very successfully in an industry which has been notorious for volatility & which has taken down many a MNC’s who tried their hands at it.
Positions and trades were riding the large cycles, often yearly or even longer ( he rode the Hunt Cycle of silver). Most of his success came in being bearish & going against the grain.
A supreme independent thinker, people literally paid him for his brains and views and opinions & and all this in a world untapped by technology.
He got his insights the old fashipned way, by constantly being on the field. I remember he travelled all across the country, maybe 15 days a month, by road, made friends everywhere, farmers — commission agents, brokers, traders, millers and all.
Stayed at their houses, havelis or farms. Ate their food, understand their language and more importantly read the tea leaves in between. Understood the monsoon cycles and the mentality of the farmers on what they did and why and then on that he based his trade.
No fancy charts, no Bloomberg or no normal telephone even. Just plain feet on the ground, ear to the wind and eyes on the sky. He spoke little, heard everyone and almost got everyone’s respect — friends, peers, colleagues or competitors.
Till more then 20 years of his death I remember getting calls from the smallest corners of the country asking or remembering him and regaling us with his anecdotes, daring and chutputzah in trading.
Speaking of being fearless, there is a folk lore in our family, about a small town gangster in our village and apparently he troubled one of our family members or stole something, bapa went over to his lane or house which no one ventured after dark, knocked and locked himself in his house with the gangster, what happened later is a blur, but needless to say that there was no more trouble post that. This is a true story, bachansque almost 70 years ago !!
His generosity had no boundaries, there used to be rarely a meal at our home, when he has not invited others (which often drove my mom up the wall) , he would pack Taj Bread (they started this probably 30–40 years ago ) and would pick up 5–6 loaves and drop them to all our near ones on the way and then come home. The same for all goodies, this was a fascinating way to love and live and one that I really want to imbibe.
In our world today, where we call everything from out often at a fraction of minutes, he was regularly baking bread (brown — wheat) himself and goading the family to do it as well. Bread / cake all was made at home, not for cutting corners or costs, but for understanding the real spirit of eating good food, made at home!
I have many fond memories with Bapa, I used to give him company in our other home to sleep at night (At that time as a new teen — very very reluctantly) & I used to see him wear his monkey cap and sleep early, wake up early and make his own tea — almost every day. He made herbal tea / kava before it became a fad . It was such a simple life, such a purposeful life. Get up — Make the bed — Make tea — Pray — Walk — Go to temple Pray — and then begin the day !!
I wish I was half as generous as he was, or as fearless as he was or as intelligent as he was.
I wish that I straddled so passionately the work and the world as he did his work and how much respect he got from his peers, not for anything else but for his acumen.
I wish I could lift so many other lives selflessly as he did, Doctors, CA’s, Lawyers, traders, businessmen and brokers, all worked and stayed under him and earned their spurs with him, often motivated by him and blindly supported by him. Am sure many of them remember and also owe some part of their successful life to him.
My dad has always been my idol, but his idol was bapa and it will be a privilege to walk on those footsteps.
I think my dad would also love it and he would also love this story to be told, for some stories need to be told, some men need to be remembered.