The word "Kadali" - A Telugu word for the ocean was introduced to me as it happened to be the moniker for a coastal village set in remote AP. My uncle Shri. HariKrishna Mocherla chanced upon this village, owing to his employment in a National Bank. Kadali was very close to my home town, and Uncle Hari and his family used to religiously visit us on Sundays. He was my father's maternal cousin but was probably the most prominent of our extended family that was present in my formative years.
"It is beautiful out there" He used to exclaim with a perpetual twinkle that graced his large eyes. Their dreamy look transformed me to the seashore - a visual I didn't discover in person until I was in middle school and traveled to Vishakapatnam. But somehow, his awe for the ocean made me conjure up pristine sand shores and frothy white waves breaking on my tiny feet. It was probably then, that the nature enthusiast in me took birth. And the lover of words and descriptions.
"Kadali" I used to roll this word in my mouth during episodes of imagination, wondering how it would sound as a name for a little girl or a pet dog that I'd one day adopt. Uncle Hari, thus brought into my life the very valuable source of my imagination along with the many others he had brought into my life. 'Unconditional love' for instance. I used to see him at regular intervals, even when his job took him to the the neighboring states. Our bond cemented and I got see a substantial amount of him and his family when his sister got married in my hometown and we played host to the marriage party. His sense of humor was legendary, his smile - gentle and reflecting every bit of love he had for life. And me, as I would discover later in my growing years.
We used to take the train to Hyderabad together during my high school years there. I always felt like an equal with him. perhaps because of the way he bent down to the level of a teen or he raised me to the level of a matured grown up. His affection never had too much ammunition. Just simple actions and the occasional pat on my back when we met. We used to converse endlessly, often foraging around quotes from Shakespeare, and random lines form Keats and Wordsworth , A subject my grand uncle (Uncle Hari's dad) was an authority in, during his tenure as an English professor. His memories of his childhood gave me glimpses of my ancestors . He had that special smile for me in every family gathering, his eyes searching the crowd as he looked to spot me and bestow upon me, his fatherly love in the most purest, subtlest form I had the good fortune of experiencing.
In one of the many letters he wrote to me, he once mentioned about remembering Harry Belafonte's Jamaican Farewell, as he left me at the bus stop. "I kept looking back to trace you till you were out of sight" he wrote - remembering Harry Belafonte's lines
“...Down the bay where the nights are gay and the sun shines daily on the mountain top, I took a trip on a sailing ship and when I reached Jamaica I made a stop...
But I’m sad to say I’m on my way, won't be back for many a day, my heart is down my head is turning around, I had to leave a little girl in Kingston Town"
(The little girl in question was legally an adult then, running her eighteenth year, but the love she felt that day would definitely go down as the top ten 'goose bump' moments in her life)
And then, there were a series of celebrations in the family, including my own wedding. As tradition has it, the Telugu Brahmin brides were carried to the wedding altar in a basket none the less and her maternal uncles would lug her with all their love. Uncle Hari was the one who tugged on to my basket along with an army of my uncles, and as I had these jitters, he bent down and whispered into my ear "You are in for a wonderful ride, trust me and brace yourself"
His prophecy came true in heartwarming ways, as I embarked upon the wonderful ride of growing up in the truest sense, always powered by the tremendous amount of love I received on my path and the perspectives that were shown to me through examples.
He would be the first one to visit me on my every trip to India, dropping in with that wonderful smile of his - not once taunting me for not taking the initiative to visit him. Infact, he never gave me a chance to initiate a visit, cause he was always there even before I got over my lag. He used to bring me his writings, musings and the wonderful, pleasant spirit that left me empowered and utterly loved every single time.
On a particular occasion, I called him after I heard the news of his younger brother's untimely passing. I could, that day, sense the strength of his soul. The way he remembered his brother in glimpses from the day he was born and the discovery of Robin Sharma's book in his brother's room...
He put a graceful twist on mourning. And I discovered more reasons to love this man.
During my last visit to India weeks ago, he was there at the venue of a family celebration, looking back at me and flashing his smile. We sat together and held hands for the longest time. He updated me about the achievements of his kids and grand kids and looked radiantly content with his life. He brought me an envelope this time around, with printouts of pics he had of me and my siblings - there was a solo photograph of his too, tucked in there - on retrospect, I realize, if it was his way of giving me a piece of him till I tread on this earth, in his absence.
" I cannot believe I am pushing on seventy" , he said to me - that were bits of the last conversation we had. I sit here now, with an inexplicable feeling, somewhere in between a sense of deep love and irreplaceable loss - but then I brace myself and trust him that a wonderful ride is ahead of him now and until our eternal spirits cross paths again, I draw strength from his example, his love and the positive legacy he left back for the fortunate likes of me.
Thank you for existing Uncle Hari, for not just talking the talk but also for walking the walk and loving me like you loved your own children. I'll always count you among my biggest of blessing and I hope, I had in some small, insignificant way, reciprocated the love you had for me.
I dig into my wedding album today and look at this picture in a new light. Actions, always speak louder. Words are lousy translations.
"It is beautiful out there" He used to exclaim with a perpetual twinkle that graced his large eyes. Their dreamy look transformed me to the seashore - a visual I didn't discover in person until I was in middle school and traveled to Vishakapatnam. But somehow, his awe for the ocean made me conjure up pristine sand shores and frothy white waves breaking on my tiny feet. It was probably then, that the nature enthusiast in me took birth. And the lover of words and descriptions.
"Kadali" I used to roll this word in my mouth during episodes of imagination, wondering how it would sound as a name for a little girl or a pet dog that I'd one day adopt. Uncle Hari, thus brought into my life the very valuable source of my imagination along with the many others he had brought into my life. 'Unconditional love' for instance. I used to see him at regular intervals, even when his job took him to the the neighboring states. Our bond cemented and I got see a substantial amount of him and his family when his sister got married in my hometown and we played host to the marriage party. His sense of humor was legendary, his smile - gentle and reflecting every bit of love he had for life. And me, as I would discover later in my growing years.
We used to take the train to Hyderabad together during my high school years there. I always felt like an equal with him. perhaps because of the way he bent down to the level of a teen or he raised me to the level of a matured grown up. His affection never had too much ammunition. Just simple actions and the occasional pat on my back when we met. We used to converse endlessly, often foraging around quotes from Shakespeare, and random lines form Keats and Wordsworth , A subject my grand uncle (Uncle Hari's dad) was an authority in, during his tenure as an English professor. His memories of his childhood gave me glimpses of my ancestors . He had that special smile for me in every family gathering, his eyes searching the crowd as he looked to spot me and bestow upon me, his fatherly love in the most purest, subtlest form I had the good fortune of experiencing.
In one of the many letters he wrote to me, he once mentioned about remembering Harry Belafonte's Jamaican Farewell, as he left me at the bus stop. "I kept looking back to trace you till you were out of sight" he wrote - remembering Harry Belafonte's lines
“...Down the bay where the nights are gay and the sun shines daily on the mountain top, I took a trip on a sailing ship and when I reached Jamaica I made a stop...
But I’m sad to say I’m on my way, won't be back for many a day, my heart is down my head is turning around, I had to leave a little girl in Kingston Town"
(The little girl in question was legally an adult then, running her eighteenth year, but the love she felt that day would definitely go down as the top ten 'goose bump' moments in her life)
And then, there were a series of celebrations in the family, including my own wedding. As tradition has it, the Telugu Brahmin brides were carried to the wedding altar in a basket none the less and her maternal uncles would lug her with all their love. Uncle Hari was the one who tugged on to my basket along with an army of my uncles, and as I had these jitters, he bent down and whispered into my ear "You are in for a wonderful ride, trust me and brace yourself"
His prophecy came true in heartwarming ways, as I embarked upon the wonderful ride of growing up in the truest sense, always powered by the tremendous amount of love I received on my path and the perspectives that were shown to me through examples.
He would be the first one to visit me on my every trip to India, dropping in with that wonderful smile of his - not once taunting me for not taking the initiative to visit him. Infact, he never gave me a chance to initiate a visit, cause he was always there even before I got over my lag. He used to bring me his writings, musings and the wonderful, pleasant spirit that left me empowered and utterly loved every single time.
On a particular occasion, I called him after I heard the news of his younger brother's untimely passing. I could, that day, sense the strength of his soul. The way he remembered his brother in glimpses from the day he was born and the discovery of Robin Sharma's book in his brother's room...
He put a graceful twist on mourning. And I discovered more reasons to love this man.
During my last visit to India weeks ago, he was there at the venue of a family celebration, looking back at me and flashing his smile. We sat together and held hands for the longest time. He updated me about the achievements of his kids and grand kids and looked radiantly content with his life. He brought me an envelope this time around, with printouts of pics he had of me and my siblings - there was a solo photograph of his too, tucked in there - on retrospect, I realize, if it was his way of giving me a piece of him till I tread on this earth, in his absence.
" I cannot believe I am pushing on seventy" , he said to me - that were bits of the last conversation we had. I sit here now, with an inexplicable feeling, somewhere in between a sense of deep love and irreplaceable loss - but then I brace myself and trust him that a wonderful ride is ahead of him now and until our eternal spirits cross paths again, I draw strength from his example, his love and the positive legacy he left back for the fortunate likes of me.
Thank you for existing Uncle Hari, for not just talking the talk but also for walking the walk and loving me like you loved your own children. I'll always count you among my biggest of blessing and I hope, I had in some small, insignificant way, reciprocated the love you had for me.
I dig into my wedding album today and look at this picture in a new light. Actions, always speak louder. Words are lousy translations.
