Ashok Ramasubramanian - Things Will Be Okay

 

 

I have a PhD in mechanical engineering. I can figure this out. [audience laughter] I did my first grade at the Seventh Day Adventist School in South India. Now, in this school, everyone got a rank based on their academic performance, even first graders. I remember looking at my report card and next to the box that it said rank, there was a beautiful one written in red ink. I'd gotten the first rank. I didn't know what it meant, but my parents were delighted, my father especially so. 

 

Well, my father was a strict person. He definitely scared me. On this occasion though, he just hoisted me high up in the air, and I remember looking down upon his face and what I saw can only be described as joy. He asked me what I wanted. I said, “I want grapes.” [audience laughter] He immediately went out and got me some grapes. That was a good day. [audience laughter] In second grade, my mother, sister, and I went on vacation while my father stayed behind to take care of some business. We visited my mother's parents. They lived in the neighboring state of Kerala. 

 

My maternal grandfather was a doctor. Him and my grandmother, they lived in this beautiful and enormous house. And unusual for that time and place. They had a telephone and they had a car. And this house itself was just absolutely amazing. It was large and spacious. There was a water fountain in the front yard, and it had fish and frogs and water plants and you could splash around in this thing.

 

It rains a lot in Kerala. And the moss grew so thick on the walls that I could just put my little hand straight into the wall, the moss would come almost up to my wrist. The yard had a eucalyptus tree which made the whole place smell nice. And then, one night, the phone rang. My grandfather answered it. He was a doctor and not a stranger to receiving patient phone calls at home. But I could see that this time, it was different. He was talking rather fast. And then, other people entered the room and they were all shuffling about, looking at their feet. I could sense that something was wrong, but I really didn't know. 

 

And then, out of nowhere I heard my mother scream and she starts crying. The next thing I know, everybody's piling into my grandfather's car and we are driving somewhat fast. It was fairly late in the night at this time. I was seven years old, pretty confused, didn't know what was going on. After a long drive, we arrived at the town where we lived in. But instead of going to our house, we went to my paternal grandparents’ house. They lived in the same town as we did. And this house was the exact opposite of the one that I had just left. It was small and was cramped. No moss, no water fountain. And instead of eucalyptus, the house smelled of pond's face powder. I didn't like that smell and I didn't really like being in this house. 

 

The house itself was a beehive of activity though. Late at night, but practically every light was on, people constantly milling about and moving about. As I entered the living room, there's a lot of strangers, mostly women that I don't know. They're wailing at the top of their voice. They're all seated on the floor. And sitting on the sofa is my father. And for some reason he has a flower garland around his neck, which is very odd. And this cotton in his nostrils and his color wasn't right. They told me my father had died. He was 33 years old, I was seven. I remember my mother screaming. She had beautiful hair. Not anymore at the time. My sister was screaming as well. Me, I knew I had to cry and I tried to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come. 

 

Instead, I felt strangely happy. I remember thinking, “Hey, no more strict guy. How cool.” It was totally the wrong thing to feel, but that's what I felt. And then, my uncle, who was standing next to me, he said, “Poor boy, your father has died. Your life's going to be miserable.” He had no malevolent intention. He was simply pointing out the most logical and likely outcome. [audience laughter] And then, I heard my father's voice. No one else in the room seemed to hear, but I heard his voice. The translation is rather difficult, but he said something like, “What's the big deal? Why is everyone crying? I'm still here.” He said this repeatedly, but no one else seemed to hear, but I heard him. I think he was trying to reassure me that things would be okay. Things were not okay. 

 

The next morning, I was informed that since I was the oldest child and the male child, I had to do the death rituals. So, they put my father in this ugly coffin, and he was paraded around town. And first, we went to this filthy public bath, where someone poured a lot of cold water over me. I still had my clothes on. I hadn't slept or eaten in a long time, and I was still seven years old. 

 

And then, we went to the burial place where they said they have to shave off my hair. And this I fought, but the person with the knife was just too strong. They held me down, and I was fighting, and the blade wasn't particularly sharp. So, I remember, like, tears and blood and hair falling on my lap. And then, we saw the burial pit where they were going to put my father in. I remember feeling absolutely terrified that they were going to put me in the pit as well. And mercifully, I don't remember much else from that day. 

 

Growing up in India was indeed difficult. It's a patriarchal society. Not having a father was so bad that I was not even allowed to talk about it. If someone asked me, “Hey, where's your father?” I was supposed to say, “He is out of town, and I don't know when he will return.” It seemed like my uncle got it right, like my life was indeed miserable.

 

Some years passed. I grew up, got married, moved to America. But you don't really escape from something like that. Fear and dread have always been a part of me. And in my worldview, buildings collapse, planes fall from the sky, and the ground just opens up and swallows you whole. Sometimes literally, as was the case when I was convinced that my kitchen floor would collapse. 

 

There is a distinction between cautious and being scared out of one's wits, and I'm always on the wrong side of that divide. [audience chuckles] On a cold February morning in 2010, my son was born. As I held my first born in my hands, I remember feeling this absolute dread and absolute panic. I remember thinking, I'm going to die young and this whole wretched cycle is going to repeat itself. And then, it didn't help that around this time, I was diagnosed with a congenital cardiac disorder, something that could have killed my father, but nobody knows. 

 

And then they also told me that there is a 50% chance that I could pass this condition to my son. That was just too much, like not having a father and cardiac disease, all that was bad enough, but now my son has to deal with it? I just couldn't bear it at that point. I finally started to break down and started to cry. I would hide in the basement and just cry and cry and cry. But around this time, I also made a decision. The cold, hard fact is I could die young. There is not much I can do about that. You don't always win the race with genetics. But I could put on a brave face in front of my son so long as I'm still alive. I think children need to see their parents as calm and strong. So, I decided to fake it till I make it. [audience laughter] 

 

A few years later, also on a cold February morning, my daughter was born. As I held my daughter in my hands, I again felt dread and fear and all that, but this time a little bit less and maybe even a tiny hint of joy. [audience laughter] Last summer, I took my daughter to the Mohawk River in upstate New York. There's a lock there where they race and lower boats. There is this prime viewing spot that in order to get there, you got to cross this metal bridge. As I cross this metal bridge, all kinds of fears come into my thought stream, like, “What is the dude behind me is totally evil and pushes me? What if I get a heart attack at the right moment? What if there's a gust of wind?” all that. 

 

But here's the thing. Instead of staying on the side of safety and playing it safe, I cross that bridge every single day. Just fake it till you make it. My daughter, she just looks on with fascination at the gears and all that. The thought of falling into the water simply doesn't occur to her. She simply trusts that I'm going to hold her tight. And lately, I've noticed that I've been quietly doing other things that required trusting the universe just a little bit more. I routinely skip the flu vaccine. [audience laughter] I bike in the city. Not today, but yesterday I did. [audience laughter] Once I mailed my passport without express mail. Actually, not even priority mail, [audience laughter] just regular mail. It won't get lost. It's going to be okay. The ground won't swallow it up. 

 

This kind of trusting the universe is totally new concept to me. We are reaching an important milestone in my family. Yesterday, my son turned seven, the same age I was when my dad died. In two weeks, my daughter will turn three, the same age my sister was when my dad died. But as I lift them up and they look down upon my face, I don't think they see someone who is scared and terrified all the time. They simply see their father. Maybe I'm starting to trust the words of my own father from so long ago, “What's the big deal? Things are going to be okay.”

 

Now, I'm an engineer and a scientist, and my training tells me that men do not speak to their children after they die. But to hell with science and to hell with logic, my father did speak to me, I did hear him, and he was correct. Thank you.