Looking back, I see that life has always been my teacher — sometimes through people, sometimes through experiences, and sometimes through love itself. My first and most enduring role model was my father.

Rather than recounting childhood chronologically, I have chosen a few moments—small incidents that quietly shaped my understanding of integrity, courage, and trust.

My dad was a  tough Police officer but had a soft heart. Had never raised his hands on his children. The next episodes will tell you what I mean.

Toddling around in Kollegal

 We had just moved to Kollegal from Mangalore – Dad was the new Circle Inspector stationed there.  Transfers were frequent, but values were constant. Back then Kollegal was a very small town and I think it was a part of Madras state until 1956 when it became a part of Mysore state.  My brother was a year and a half and I was barely 3. 

Our house in Kollegal was a very unique place – I don’t think we have since then lived in a place like that.  I recall having a deer as a pet in our household, some rabbits, and a troop of monkeys right in our front yard living in a huge mango tree right next to the living room – of course they were not pets but the rulers of the place!  Dad used to keep his typewriter on the table in the living room and would occasionally sit there and work.  One day we were all eating dinner in the dining room and the typewriter started chattering away.  We looked at each other wondering who could be typing since we were all in the dining room.  Dad stepped out to see and guess who was busy banging away on the keys – one of our resident langurs.  I guess he had watched Dad often enough that he had to come best him!                         

Besides deer, rabbits and monkeys we had some other visitors too.  One night one such visitor gave my mother the fright of her life.  We had a hallway next to the living room which led to the bathroom, toilet etc.  That night in that hallway I thought I saw a beautiful, brightly colored “pencil.”  I called out to mom and was in the process of picking up the “pencil” when she showed up, shrieked, grabbed hold of me and ran all the way to the doctor’s house, which was quite the distance, to see if I had been bitten by this viper.  Luckily it was a false alarm. 

Kollegal was known for silk and known for the very high quality silk sarees made in the local silk factory.  One other image that I have of Kollegal is that of circular mats of woven bamboo with the yellow silk cocoons in the verandas of most homes – silk worm growing was a side business for most people in Kollegal during that era and you could see it all over the place. 

I can’t recall much else from those days, but I am sure that they were filled with fun and excitement.

A few years later, we had the privilege of being in Kollegal and were very pleasantly surprised to see the house pretty much as we remembered it. The people living there were gracious to let us in, look around, and take many photos to relive the past. Sadly, the monkeys were no longer living in the tree!

In the Heart of Tropical forest

Mercara, the capital of Coorg District in 1957 was much greener and more beautiful. However, the monsoons were not something we could deal with. The rains were incessant, the clothes never dried, it was not the age of heaters. For the first time, Nature felt overwhelming rather than olayful.  My younger brother and I walked to school. It was a country of lose jacket oranges. Don’t know if you have ever heard of such a phrase ever before. – dad got transferred to Mysore. A honest police officer he was my dad. We got invited for high tea at many a place. But, the  highlight was the invite from General Cariappa. I was a young girl in braids but, I remember the evening perfectly. I was amazed at the grand mansion. I did not fully understand who General Cariappa was, but I understood stature. The house was grand, yet the man was warm. Authority, I was learning, did not have to be intimidating.

He requested dad to stay back for he wanted an honest police officer. But dad said ‘No’ because both of us – my brother and I were falling sick constantly during the monsoon. It was an honour many would have accepted without hesitation. But my father chose health over prestige, family over favour.  What I didn’t know  that time and learnt later was that probably that stint at Mercara earned him the President’s medal of honour.

“At that age, I did not understand what integrity meant—but I was living inside it.”

Mysore the City of Palaces

Sunita Mallya, my mom had a green thumb. She wanted to do some gardening. A huge bungalow with a lot of space in front and at the back at the police quarters in Mysore. Two small children. A husband who kept to odd hours. Needed help – a gardener perhaps!

After much goading, dad brings home a chap who is tall, fit and willing to work in the garden and stay in the outhouse. To top it all, he would take care of his own food and not be a bother to Mom.

First few  days were spent in checking on the work done by the newly appointed gardener! Umm. ‘He seems to know his job’, she said. ‘Let’s wait and watch’. Soon we saw mom working along with him and build up a kitchen garden. We grew snake gourds which were a good match to our heights. My brother and I stood there checking out if they matched our heights.

There were other vegetables too. These found their way into our kitchen. ‘The meals cooked with the freshest of the fresh vegetables were delicious’,  so said Mom. The gardener now got a few goodies from Mom’s kitchen to eat!

Bora as we called him was resourceful. He knew exactly where to go to get rose cuttings for the front garden. My brother and I, all of 7 & 5 years of age often pleaded with mom to let us go along with him to get the rose cuttings. He would hold our hand and we would go walking to collect the best cuttings that he could lay his hands on. It was a project to plant them, nurture them and watch them grow. Winter at the front garden of the last bungalow of Police quarters of Mysore was a delight to behold. The rose bushes were in bloom. They were of varied colours and types. The Gardening mission at ‘Jalpuri’ quarters was accomplished successfully. 

One evening, it was around 7:30 p.m. dad was cycling into the compound and stopped short. A huge King cobra slithered past him into the rose bushes. There was panic. Children were ushered in and asked to stay indoors. Dad carefully made his way into the house. Now who is to catch the snake or ensure that the snake goes out of the premises? Bora Of course. True enough, Bora walks in with a stick and soon enough all is well. Life returns to normal. Bora was a man on whom the family depended on.

Dad got transferred out of Mysore on a promotion. We had to move out. Bora was given a fond farewell. That evening, mom and dad generally spoke about Bora and the work he had done for us. At that point dad mentions about the background of Bora. Here it goes:

Bora was a farmer. He was a farmer who had served a prison sentence for killing a man in a fit of anger. He was released out of prison early due to good behavior and had nowhere to go. Mom wanted a gardener and the rest is History.

Would mom have treated him the same way had she known the truth? Hard to tell. I have always wondered, how dad could trust his family with a murderer? Don’t know who is the more amazing one at that – Bora or my Dad Vasudeva?

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

These lines from Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard seem to mirror the life of my Dad.

Today, long after his footsteps have faded from sight, their direction continues to guide my own journey.