Keep It Up!
This was, perhaps, dad's favourite expression. It was, when he was alive. It continues to be, from the beyond as well.
“You were a very good dad. I am very proud of you. Keep it up, Pappa!”
These were the only words that I muttered as he lay on the floor, wrapped in an off white chaadar, cold and lifeless yet glowing, smiling and at peace. I said it a few more times.
I thought I would say something else. Something more. I couldn’t. Even in my head this is all I could say. “Keep it up, dad”.
The last time I touched his hand before he went into the electric chamber, I said “I love you dad. I am very proud of you. Keep it up”.
That was it. Dad was gone. 14th June 2022.
“Keep it up” was really the first phrase I learnt.
I was living with the Chandran’s when dad and mum had to go for the second kidney transplant to CMCH, Vellore in 1985-86. The first transplant had not worked out—his older brother/my Poppins chacha was the first donor— and dad had taken quite seriously ill once again.
I was in class 2 and I am guessing it must have been either me or Leela aunty who wrote to my parents about how I was doing in school. Dad’s second transplant was a success and as he was improving, he wrote back letters. Postcards, really.
Everytime I received the letters, I always imagined looking at him through an oval-shaped glass window of the ICU ward at the CMCH. I, propped up by someone so that I could get a good look, and he, attached to tubes and monitors but awake and smiling and nodding at me.
The light on my side of the door was a warm yellow and on his side white light. I imagine I was in something yellow, and he was in the hospital white and green (or was it blue?). His smile is all I could see while reading the letters.
So, one letter that arrived said how proud he was of me that I was doing so well in school. At the end of the letter, it said “Keep it up”.
I have always been someone who can take things a tad “too literally”. So, I promptly read the letter, found the tallest shelf in the house and put the postcard right on top of a pile of magazines.
Leela aunty came to the room just when I was getting off the stool that I had placed on top of a broad chair to reach the top shelf. These were cement shelves built into the wall; they would have barely been 6 feet high but then I was tiny.
Curious, she wanted to know my reasons for this elaborate set up. “The letter said “Keep it up”. So I was keeping it on the top.” The postcard was soon retrieved.
Leela aunty was kind; I don’t remember how the rest of the evening unfolded but I am guessing (and am fairly certain) she would have very kindly explained what the phrase meant. The postcard episode, however, promptly reached my parents.
And since then, “Keep it up” became both a funny-story and a phrase that dad used generously to praise my smallest efforts and my biggest achievements.
“You exercised today? Keep it up, beta”. “You took a bath. Keep it up”. “You got a promotion. Well done, keep it up”. “You are writing a book. Wonderful. Keep it up”.
14th June 2023. It was dad’s first death anniversary. The whole family had once again come together. Mum’s siblings, my brother and me, udit.
Though it was a death anniversary, the household wasn’t sombre. There were moments of sadness, of course, but there were many more moments of lightness and laughter and mirth—more like honouring and celebrating dad’s life. Dad would have been pleased!
While we were all chatting, I noticed one of those Fitbit watches around Mausi’s wrist. This particular Fitbit/smart watch told you if you needed to slow down, speed up, relax or push yourself a little more—like with an actual sentence or a phrase.
Everyone wore the watch, fooled around a bit and waited for the ‘smart watch’ to announce its verdict. I decided to try it too. I strapped it on, made a few wrist movements, raised and dropped my arm, tied it a little tighter to bring the wrist watch to life but the black screen only flashed dancing circles in psychedelic colours.
I was done with it. Convinced that my little wrist movements was just too minor for it to waste any digital data on me, I began unstrapping the smart watch.
Just then, the black screen flashed three bold white words — “KEEP IT UP”.
Dad was very much there. And he certainly was very pleased with my effort!
14th June 2024. It is two years today. I am sure he will figure out a way to say I am doing ok. To say “Keep it up, betaa”.
The first time I wrote about dad was during the writing circle last year. And there is so much more. & ’s workshop is like a mining expedition. You will find something valuable. Always.
Savvy! The beauty of this piece ...the pain and the soft warm love .. such a deft handling of the reader and writer here....umma
I smiled through tears, made me feel pain & joy at same point of time. I was feeling your loss & your celebration of his life. Lost my father only a month back- your piece made ne remind of him so much. I m sure uncle must be saying “Keep it up” today too for this beautiful piece.