“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” — Soren Kierkegaard
“We never know the love of a parent until we become parents ourselves.” — Henry Ward Beecher
“At the end of the day people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.” — Maya Angelou
Oscar Wilde wrote in The Picture of Dorian Gray, “Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” My relationship with my father has followed that arc. I would remove the “sometimes” qualification. I am grateful that I grew much closer to him over the last ten years and especially over the past three years of his illness.
My father died, peacefully, on Thursday May 27th evening at his home in Manhattan. He was diagnosed in mid-2015 with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (a chronic, degenerative, incurable lung disease). Upon the initial diagnosis, the doctors said he had between 6 months and 3 years to live. He embraced life even harder than he had to that point — travelling, seeing friends and playing tennis competitively (a sport he loved and excelled at since adolescence). For almost exactly three years everything seemed fine. Suddenly, in mid-July 2018, he couldn’t breathe without assistance. He fought valiantly for almost three years after that, surviving an unrelated cancer diagnosis and a stroke which took away his ability to swallow for 9 months (he regained it through therapy.)
Those of you who follow my writing might recall my saying in the past that “putting pen to paper” is a therapeutic process for me. The act of writing forces me to clarify jumbled thoughts into a readable whole.
This has never been more true than with this post.
One can never know one’s parents fully given there was so much of their lives we (as children and then again as grown adults) were not present for. While I knew that my father had made friends all over the world with many people, I am astounded, humbled and deeply touched at the outpouring of love for him.
I can only hope all of us (myself included) have such a positive impact on the lives of others.
Some of the Many Things I Learned From My Father
The world is a big and wondrous place. Explore it and appreciate it, particularly its diversity.
Knowing the world (learning about cultures, religions, histories, and cuisines) and exploring the world (travelling internationally from a relatively young age) are things I simply took for granted, assuming everyone did this. My father was particularly adept at making each different place he lived (Los Angeles, London, Sydney, Delhi, Honolulu, New York, Brussels and Washington D.C.) or visited extensively (Antwerp and Seoul to name a small few) almost like a second home. He built deep friendships and got to know the cities and cultures like a local. He loved the diversity of the world and appreciated the differences that made people so interesting to him.
Deeply learning about another culture is transformative in making you more creative and expansive in thinking. Every time I spend time abroad (beyond a resort hotel visit), I remember this truism. It has been a while since I’ve travelled anywhere due to COVID. My father’s experiences which involved getting deeply enmeshed in other cultures gave him this insight repeatedly over his life.
Relationships are important. Tend to them.
This is a piece of advice I’ve heard from many quarters. Linda Ryan, my wife whose opinion I value immensely, has reminded me of the importance of this tenet on numerous occasions. As has my wise older cousin, Vidisha Patel. I should have paid more attention to this wisdom sooner.
Intellectually, I knew that relationships are important for happiness and health — there is a lot of research to back this up. And yet, it was only fairly recently, that I began investing more time and effort in cultivating and feeding relationships. The great thing is that I’ve experienced a quick positive feedback loop.
My father made an extra effort to build relationships and maintain them. His efforts, driven by a genuine curiosity and interest about other people and their lives, had an impact. Numerous people have reached out to me (and many, many more to my mother) in recent days and weeks. Several are people we’ve both either never met or only met once many years ago….and they felt the need to share the impact Jay had on their lives.
His friendships gave him extra solace and joy during the challenging last few years of his life. A hugely powerful lesson for me.
Education matters. Keep learning.
It may be living up to the stereotype of immigrant families (particularly Asian) to say that education matters. After a 25-year career with one employer, my father reinvented himself to take on multiple other careers. He was deeply proud of my mother’s scholarly career and achievements. And he encouraged my brother (Nik) and I to continue learning, both formally (through college degrees) and informally.
My Dad kept learning in areas outside his comfort zone or educational training. Late in his career, he became familiar with the world of private equity, fundraising, and deal making. He was always ready to be an editor/reader for my mother in her numerous books, particularly for the two published this year, the second of which, entitled India: A Story Through 100 Objects, arrived in hard-copy just before he died.
He stretched himself to be a teacher (at Parsons) and a writer (he wrote a column for a newspaper in India.) He was the person with whom I shared drafts of my blog post — I know he enjoyed reading them. I appreciate his feedback and more importantly, learning and new topics, as a connection point between us. This is the first one I am editing myself without outside review.
Provide for your family. It is a meaningful portion of a man’s life mission.
My father did what it took (a lot of personal sacrifice in extensive travel and time away from family) to provide the best possible life for his nuclear family unit. His career and work enabled our family to leave India and move to the United States.
I just read Arthur’s Brooks’ piece in the Atlantic entitled Dad’s Just Want to Help which resonates deeply with me, and I believe would with him too.
The notion of children “doing better than their parents” was something that mattered to him (as it does to lots of parents, particularly immigrants to America.) I know he believed his efforts and sacrifices had allowed my brother and me to achieve his hope for us, of a better life.
Storytelling is “an art” that connects people. There is some nugget of wisdom in every story, even when you can’t see any obvious relevance to your life.
My older son shared this meme in the family group chat yesterday. It is spot on about us...him cringing….me (his father) telling a silly joke or story (which he’s heard before)….and my father (his grandfather) being entertained. The image is doubly perfect as both my father and I love dogs.
My father loved telling stories. At times, he “held court” at parties, dinners or other large gatherings. My friends recall meeting him at parties we hosted over the years. Stories were his avenue to find common ground in human experience, to lighten the mood (typically by making fun of himself) and to create the space for connection as well as learning.
When I was younger, I often wondered what the point of any particular story was to my life at that time. Upon reflection, the learning I have gleaned from all his stories (and those I hear from others) is that “history doesn't repeat itself but it often rhymes” (a quote attributed to Mark Twain.) In other words, the content itself may be outdated or irrelevant — the underlying principle or teaching is the hidden gold.
Connect across generations. Encourage those younger than you in realizing their potential.
I was surprised to learn, over and over again, how people many in my age range and younger (both men and women) considered my father a “friend and mentor.” He was interested in new ideas and new developments. He engaged with those younger and doing “innovative” things as a way to stay current.
He was aware of the world changing, mostly for the better, and did his utmost to embrace that change even if he did not always understand it fully — both technological (using Google docs and having an active Instagram account as some examples) and social (deep and close friendships within the LGBTQ community as one example.) He was exceedingly open minded given the era he grew up in. He was able to connect the reality of the 1940s with the reality of 2021.
He wanted to help others succeed. Thus, he asked lots of questions about them and made suggestions — perhaps sometimes a few too many (of both), and when not asked for, but always, always with the best of intentions.
He loved making connections between people in the hope that serendipity would allow for a win-win outcome for all involved.
No essay (or even book length biography) can do justice to any human being. None of us can be fully known, often even to ourselves.
What I present to you about my father, is informed by my information (limited) and my biases (conscious and unconscious). I have learned along my journey that what I see in others — their goodness (gold) and their flaws (shadows) are also those residing in me. For I can only reflect back that which I know myself.
I’d like to close with a quote, from Stephen Hawking, who did his graduate studies and taught at Cambridge University, a place my father loved.
“One of the basic rules of the universe is that nothing is perfect. Perfection simply doesn’t exist…..Without imperfection, neither you nor I would exist.”
Sending you all my love, Dad!
Thank you for sharing this treasure, Adi.
Wonderfully written and glad that you shared it with the world.