Remembering my Uncle

 I sat on the same side of St. Anthony’s Church as I had done in 2006 when my grandma’s coffin lay close to the altar. Today though, it was my favourite uncle lying motionless in a coffin. My uncle began his journey to meet his mother. Like my Grandma, my uncle had this remarkable gift to bring people together. Every extended family get-together he would be the one making people laugh, he would be the most enthusiastic person if not in the living room, he would be cooking up a storm. This last Christmas he made a fried pork dish that was so delicious I had half a mind to abandon all the other dishes and just feast on the pork.

                  My cousins, who were quite close to him, christened him Uffappa because he smoked. In formal circles though, he was addressed as Adams. His four brothers including my dad called him Shekar or fondly Shay-ga. This is the name I used too. Shekar uncle worked as a cab driver and would at times tell me stories of the people he ferried. He was exposed to those proud corporate-types long before I even wore full pants. Driving was something he was passionate about and would often point to his love for Formula One racing and the intense grief he felt on a Sunday morning in May 1994 when he returned from church only to find his favourite racer Arton Senna had passed away.

Last summer I interviewed him for a memory-based project I was doing. One memory he pointed to was how in 1991 he had to fight his family to marry the woman he loved. How he found solace in his Chikamma (my grandma’s sister) from Neelsandra and how for him that was the start of a lovely marital journey. He then told me about to the joy he felt when he taught his daughters to drive and how happy he was that they were now old enough to drive him to church. Another moment he pointed to was the the chance he got a couple of years ago to visit his childhood home in Coorg. He told me he really wanted to take my dad and I there again to relieve some of those old times. 

 

 

He was my dad’s best friend growing up. My dad was a quiet person, always preparing for the next exam, but uncle took after my grandpa. He was happily loud, adventurous and never afraid getting in a good fight. That combination worked especially well when they had to elbow their way to the ticket counters of the different cinema-talkies in Bangalore. In the last decade, Christmas days became a time when my dad and Shekar uncle would recall the old times, talking about old neighbours from Pollibetta and cars like the Morris Minor, conversations I was always glad to eavesdrop on.

The title my dad gave Shekar uncle was ‘well-wisher of the family.’ It was an apt title. He really wished the best for me and all my cousins. He gave us the biggest hugs and rejoiced at ever little thing we achieved. He really wanted to see us all do well. He had his own way of showing it too. A minor pass time that he and my dad came up with was to plan my wedding. Shekar uncle took it to the next level last year during my parents’ anniversary when he had me in a choke-hold and asked me to decide right then if I he can start ‘looking for a bride.’ As embarrassing as that was, I was genuinely moved that someone besides my parents would be so invested in my life.

                  Unfortunately, that person who cheered my every success and cared for me is now no more. But Shekar uncle, thanks for all the laughs, the joy and good food. Your stories and memories will keep you alive in our hearts forever.