P. Ramalingam - An Obituary
My grandpa (thatha as we lovingly called him) was a kind, loving man of principles. He was the oldest Carnatic singer I have known in my family. He deeply loved and revered music. Ever since I was little he would always ask me to take time out to practice music. When I would visit him back home, he would lovingly sit next to me and and ask me to sing the new ragams that I learnt in the recent past and close his eyes and be lost in my music. In his later days, he lost his hearing abilities to a great extent, but he would still strain his ears to talk to me on the phone when I called him. You would always find him singing or humming a Carnatic tune, much as his voice allowed him to the very end of his time.
I pay all my heartfelt respects to this man from whom I learnt so much, growing up and in every stage of my life. He lived by his rules and he ardently stuck to them till his last days. He was big on reading the newspaper. Not a day would pass when he would not finish reading each line of a newspaper from end to end. He was diabetic and lost one eye at a relatively early stage in his life. But he was a fighter. He never let that affect his appetite for the news and current affairs. I always remember him asking me to be regular on my reading habits and to never stop acquiring more knowledge about the world.
So many memories of him keep coming to me in waves. Waking up in the morning to see him in a headstand yoga position against the wall. Going for long walks with him when I was a kid to get milk and vegetables from the market and making him buy me a candy. He taught me that it was just as important to look down and watch your steps while walking as looking ahead at the road. Him in his white loincloth in the puja room every morning, ringing the bell and chanting mantras out loud. When I was little, I would wait for him to finish his prayers and give me the fruits he used as neyveidyam (offering to the god) and tusli water. Him cutting vegetables every morning, slowly and meticulously for my grandma. His laughter, loud and uninhibited. His tears, just as uninhibited, when he was feeling a sense of loss for his loved ones. He loved basking in the sun every day with his shloka(prayer) books for hours till the sun bid him farewell. His deep appreciation for food since he had to be very strict about his diet.
In his last days, his health deteriorated a lot and he lost most of his body weight and strength. But he still willed himself to walk every day, inside the house with 2 walking sticks. I remember him like this last picture I took of his when I saw him in October 2009, always smiling and ready to try a new sweet, or to listen to a new thought, or a new piece of music. Always eager to learn, he infused in all of us, his passion for assimilating knowledge and to will oneself to perfection with unending rigor and practice..
Thatha... You will be dearly missed... I hope you are smiling down upon us from wherever you are up in the sky..
With all our endless love and gratitude..
Your family and friends..
My grandpa (thatha as we lovingly called him) was a kind, loving man of principles. He was the oldest Carnatic singer I have known in my family. He deeply loved and revered music. Ever since I was little he would always ask me to take time out to practice music. When I would visit him back home, he would lovingly sit next to me and and ask me to sing the new ragams that I learnt in the recent past and close his eyes and be lost in my music. In his later days, he lost his hearing abilities to a great extent, but he would still strain his ears to talk to me on the phone when I called him. You would always find him singing or humming a Carnatic tune, much as his voice allowed him to the very end of his time.
I pay all my heartfelt respects to this man from whom I learnt so much, growing up and in every stage of my life. He lived by his rules and he ardently stuck to them till his last days. He was big on reading the newspaper. Not a day would pass when he would not finish reading each line of a newspaper from end to end. He was diabetic and lost one eye at a relatively early stage in his life. But he was a fighter. He never let that affect his appetite for the news and current affairs. I always remember him asking me to be regular on my reading habits and to never stop acquiring more knowledge about the world.
So many memories of him keep coming to me in waves. Waking up in the morning to see him in a headstand yoga position against the wall. Going for long walks with him when I was a kid to get milk and vegetables from the market and making him buy me a candy. He taught me that it was just as important to look down and watch your steps while walking as looking ahead at the road. Him in his white loincloth in the puja room every morning, ringing the bell and chanting mantras out loud. When I was little, I would wait for him to finish his prayers and give me the fruits he used as neyveidyam (offering to the god) and tusli water. Him cutting vegetables every morning, slowly and meticulously for my grandma. His laughter, loud and uninhibited. His tears, just as uninhibited, when he was feeling a sense of loss for his loved ones. He loved basking in the sun every day with his shloka(prayer) books for hours till the sun bid him farewell. His deep appreciation for food since he had to be very strict about his diet.
In his last days, his health deteriorated a lot and he lost most of his body weight and strength. But he still willed himself to walk every day, inside the house with 2 walking sticks. I remember him like this last picture I took of his when I saw him in October 2009, always smiling and ready to try a new sweet, or to listen to a new thought, or a new piece of music. Always eager to learn, he infused in all of us, his passion for assimilating knowledge and to will oneself to perfection with unending rigor and practice..
Thatha... You will be dearly missed... I hope you are smiling down upon us from wherever you are up in the sky..
With all our endless love and gratitude..
Your family and friends..
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