It has been a year since Dad left us. As I look back at the past year, I think of what he left behind, each day. Dad, along with Mom, raised my brother and me. Inherent in his little, everyday actions, were great learnings. He never raised his voice, making us realise the virtues of compassion. He spoke very little, training us to be good listeners. Having made a name in development economics, he never forced his children to follow his professional path. He mentored and helped fund dozens of students to PhD level, but was not perturbed by my failure in academics. He didn’t believe in organised religion or politics and it helped me get clarity on my professional and personal life. He got married only once and stayed in that marriage but didn’t have any issue with my multiple divorces.
He walked away from most senior-level jobs because money was less important to him than integrity: it’s the professional standard I try to live by. He always worked on issues that impacted the marginalised and championed the voices of reason — thus, he helped shape what I have been trying to do with my life. There were times when some of his works were plagiarised, but he did not allow himself to succumb to extreme emotions, leaving a lesson for me to forget and forgive people who back-stabbed me in my profession.
Parents inspire their children. Some parents try to impart their values by preaching, some by putting everything through the prism of logic, and then there are others who let their kids grow according to their learning curve. Dad was the last kind; he never imposed on us how we should lead our lives. To me, the most fundamental thing he left behind was to make my own path — a path of self-discovery, a path where even if you fail, you get up and get on with your life. One can apply this in both professional and personal spheres. This approach makes you a risk-taker, less fearful.
This brings me back to the meaning of human life. What is it all about? I am no philosopher. I do not have an academic background nor am I deeply rooted in the space of a particular culture or religion. But, based on my personal experiences, I have come to conclude: everything ends. I live with the full realisation of the transience of things, of the impermanence of what we build —all the battles we wage to get through life, to succeed on various fronts, including professional and personal. All our lives, we are in the pursuit of money — creating wealth, building assets. We are ever eager to spread our wings for extraordinary achievements. There is a hunger to leave a legacy that bears our imprint. But one day it all ends. As if all we had been building were a bubble. The saying, that all of us come from the earth and will eventually disappear into it, holds so true.
Having immersed my dad’s ashes in the Ganga last year, I have now come back to my normal routine. But I have been wondering about what we actually achieve, build and save because, in the end, they don’t matter. Living in the world, we want to create comforts for ourselves. We also wish to be recognised for our individuality. We are preoccupied with the need to celebrate life. But, somewhere, when we take life too seriously — chasing our unending desires to get ahead and be on the top — the whole exercise becomes self-defeating. It starts taking a toll on the frontiers of our relationships. We get away from the beauty of slowness. We do not have adequate time to exhale. And, then, it is all over before we know it. We must realise that amid the incomprehensible vastness of the universe, we are merely a tiny speck of dust. We should not delude ourselves that we are the chosen ones. And that is the most precious learning my dad has left behind.
(Samar Jodha, photographer and an installation artist, works across Asia, Africa and the Middle East. He is also a judge on Nat Geo Cover Shot and a TED speaker)
