A Rendezvous with My Destiny: Stories of My Life and the Lessons Learnt from Them

Copyright © 2021 Shyam Parashar.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-3252-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3253-8 (e)

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 01/27/2021

‘We all are born with our predetermined destiny [Prarabdh] permanently etched as lines on our foreheads [Bhagya Rekha], which can neither be wiped out, nor read nor known, till after the events’.

-Indian philosophy

‘Destiny is what’s meant to be, what’s written in the stars, the inescapable fate, the hidden power believed to control what will happen in the future’.

-[https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/destiny]

‘I believe in destiny but, in my trilogy, destiny comes last; First is duty [Karma], next is hope [Aasha], and the last is destiny [Prarabdh]’

-Shyam Parashar

United for ever

‘Let no one separate those who are united by destiny’

On our 60th wedding anniversary

This book is dedicated to my wife

SHASHI

my partner in my destiny for the past sixty years

Made for each other

‘With these diamonds, I thee wed, again’

Shashi and Shyam Parashar

50th wedding anniversary, Goa, 2010

Taking care of each other

Happy together, always

With our children, 2018

Family union at Christmas, 2019

This book is

dedicated to our children, grandchildren,

great grandchildren, great-great grandchildren, and so on,

Lest they forget from where they came,

who their ancestors were, and what kind of life they lived.

My message for future generations:

‘Remember your roots, Be proud of your heritage’.

Never give up these three things:

‘The Hope, the Faith, and the Self-Confidence’.

Acknowledgement

I am grateful

to my parents, who gave me life, and to my Creator, who determined my destiny, the theme of my book.

to my life, from whom I learnt my lessons; those which I remember and have recorded here, and for those which I might have forgotten to record.

to all those people who came in my life and taught me lessons, in positivity as well as in negativity.

to all those to whom my life might have meant something.

to those who may read these memoirs, remember, recall, and may even relate to them.

to future generations who may find something relevant in my stories and may learn some useful lessons from them.

to Mukta, our daughter, who encouraged me to write these memoirs and also reviewed the manuscript.

Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter one: The childhood years

Shivpuri; the arena of my childhood

Spiritual upbringing

Struggles of life

Growing up fears

Lessons in values

Protected childhood

Realities of life

The crossroads

The school

Chapter two: The adolescent years

Gwalior: the arena of my adolescence

The hostel

Victoria college

Medical college

Metamorphosis into adolescence

The marriage

Chapter three: The adulthood years

The married life

Our sojourn in England

The year of turmoil

Back in India

Wars of the decade

Chapter four: The professional years

Goa, the home away from home

Exploring opportunities

Chapter Five: Challenging years in Saudi Arabia

Introduction to the Gulf

Professional experiences

The Decade of Eighties

The Decade of Nineties

The Family Matters

Chapter Six: Growing old gracefully

The 20th century

Post-retirement Life

Chapter seven: My Better Half

Epilogue

My spirituality

The Truth

The Wisdom

Post-script; The last horizon

A Glimpse at Life Beyond

Preparing for Life Beyond

About the author

Index for pictures

United for ever

Made for each other

‘With these diamonds, I thee wed, again’

Taking care of each other

Happy together, always

With our children, 2018

Family union at Christmas, 2019

My parents

Our father, A member of Indian Parliament

With younger brother and sister, 1947

With younger brother and father, 1957

My brother and me, sixty-five years apart, 1950-2015

Boy scouts at school

Three musketeers, friends since 1945

On the stage in medical college

Medical college picnics

Medical college picnics

Our traditional wedding pictures, 1960

Moments of relaxations during second honeymoon in Mussoorie, 1962

My Wedding reception in Delhi, 1960

My brother’s wedding reception in Delhi, 1964

To London, our farewell at airport, 1964

From London, our reception at airport, 1968

Goa medical college

Award; ‘Best Teacher’ by Medical students, 1975

Award; Fellowship of International College of Surgeons, Goa 1979

Saudi sojourn

My metamorphosis over three decades in Saudi Arabia

Growing old gracefully

Family pictures, 1970 and 1989

My Better half

Mom’s needlecraft creations

Mom’s donations for charity

Four generations, 1988 and 1998

Quotes

Quotes

Goa

The Love birds

The Author

Prologue

‘Believe in your destiny, do not despair’

-Shyam Parashar

I am a believer.

I believe in so many things, the ones explained as well as many others that are awaiting explanations.

I unwaveringly believe in God, the Supreme Power, by whatever name this may be called.

I believe in destiny. I also believe in tryst, the rendezvous with destiny.

I believe that destiny remains an unknown identity for us, the humans. We can only know about it by hindsight since everything that happens to us has been pre-destined.

I believe that destiny always puts everyone at the place most suited for them as related to the time and situations in their life.

I believe that destiny cannot be changed. However, its impact on happenings in life can be modulated and softened if necessary, by faith, prayers and deeds called the Karma.

I am a strong believer in the power of faith and prayers, in the strength from hope and positivity, and in the importance of blessings earned from good karma in life.

Based on my beliefs, I remain a satisfied person since I have accepted that whatever happened to me in my life was destined. I find no reason to either argue, complain, or regret.

I believe in heritage. When a person leaves this world, just three things are left behind: The Material, the Intellectual and the Spiritual. These are the three by which the person will be known, remembered, or forgotten if none of these are left behind.

Material heritages are the children, and the heirlooms dedicated to the family’s memory. Good children will perpetuate our memory and will add more heirlooms to the heritage.

Intellectual heritage is communications of three kinds.

What has been told, must have been forgotten,

Only what has been written and left behind, is likely to be read sometimes, may even be remembered.

Spiritual heritage is the best and the indestructible one. This heritage is made up of three assets.

Accumulated assets for good deeds done in earlier lives. [Sanchit Karma]

Acquired assets from deeds done in this life. [Arjit Karma]

Added assets as blessings from others, earned by our deeds. [Arpit Karma]

I consider myself a blessed person. I have lived a fulfilled life by every standard. I have enjoyed most of the happenings in my life.

I am writing this book which chronicles the anecdotes, events, and stories, as part of my tryst with my destiny in my life. These have taught me many lessons and I hope readers may learn something from them too.

My parents

Our father, a freedom fighter

Our father, A member of Indian Parliament

Introduction

‘Spend some time with your elders, not everything is available on Google’

-anonymous

I found these prophetic words in a post on my face book account. These words are so profound that they left a mark on my mind and sent me rolling back down my memory lane.

I take pride in my memories. The oldest ones are from 1938 when I was just two years old. They are vivid and very nostalgic. From this vast collection of information, I have chosen the ones that have impacted my life significantly. I learnt a lot from my elders, especially my father. It was a family tradition that we children sit with our father around a fireplace in winter and on a cot on the roof, knitted with rough jute ropes at night in summer. He had the art of storytelling that kept us awed and spellbound. I recall how my father tried to inculcate discipline and the value of truth and honesty through small personal and family incidences and stories.

Our knowledge then came not only from books but also percolated from the company of elders. Today, Google and similar social media have changed everything by providing secondhand knowledge on their websites. Recently as a teacher, whenever I asked a question, my students would immediately look down and tap their fingers on their smart phones to find the answer in seconds. Unlike us, they did not feel the need to strain the grey cells of their brains. Such answers based on second-hand knowledge often lack understanding of the subject.

I recall that as a medical student in my first year of medical school, one of my physiology teachers, Prof. Mathur asked me to write an essay for the college magazine on physiology of coagulation. The essay I wrote was seven pages long. In my enthusiasm, I included the details of everything involved in the chain of coagulation such as calcium metabolism and coagulation factors. My fellow students mocked me saying that I was trying to show off my knowledge as if I was writing not an essay but a book. However, my professor understood the depth of my knowledge and my efforts to understand and cover all aspects of any subject.

From then on, to explain the answer with understanding of the subject became my teaching methodology. The habit has become so addictive that even now when my children and grandchildren ask me any question, they get a lecture rather than just an answer. They do not hesitate to make a joke of my talking habits. They even call me by names such as Google master or walking encyclopedia. As soon as they ask a question, they may start looking at their watches knowing that answers will not be over soon. My youngest granddaughter once asked, ‘Dadu, how do you know so much’? I told her that it comes from listening to my elders and teachers, from my own efforts at reading, contemplating and analytical thinking, and minimally from sources of secondhand information such as internet, world wide web, and, of course, The Google.

I was taught from my childhood that fear is our worst enemy and faith, prayers and hope are our best friends. My father tried in his own way to remove the fear complex from our minds and replace it with fun, joy, and learning. Later when I moved on with my life, I found my own willpower and strength of convictions to deal with fear and embarrassments and replacing them with amusements and celebrations. The worst fear had always been of what others will say or think. I am still trying to overcome that.

Today we are all gripped by the ‘Corona Fear’. It is the usual talk in every household and gathering, even on telecommunications and social media. We are no exceptions. Our daughter who works as Professor of Medicine with University of Tennessee and is in charge of Medical Student Education remains so busy nowadays on phone and teleconferences, yet she always finds time to interact with us. We watch the news together and discussing all possible precautions specially as to how to overcome the fear and the paranoia surrounding it.

She too is fascinated by my stories from growing up in my life. When I told her my experiences about fear in general and how they were overcome ending in fun, she suggested that why do I not write a blog/ essay/story about these memories. Motivated as I always am by my children and grandchildren, I immediately accepted, responded, and started tapping my fingers on the keyboard of my computer. She had encouraged me to be the coauthor of her book, Rhythm of our hearts. Now she and my granddaughter Anushka are the motivation for this book. Earlier, my granddaughter Natasha motivated me to write my book, The Twists and Turns of Destiny, and our elder son, Manish published it through online. My grandson Nikhil motivated me for the book, My tryst with surgery. My wife encouraged me to write my two books of poetry, in English and in Hindi. My two professional books, Surgery; the way I teach, and Atlas of Surgery were motivated by my students and trainees while I was working in Saudi Arabia.

Going down the memory lane of eight decades of my life, I can recall many instances of the past where I experienced personal fear. I also recall instances of mass scale fear and hysteria over calamities, manmade as well as natural which enslaved the population, either of the entire world or a large population of a country. I have been selective in retaining only those of my memories that have had a positive impact. I will try to record them in chronological order as short stories.

I have learnt many things from my life, but my real education started by sitting at the feet on my grandparents, parents, and teachers. All the events of these past eight decades are very vivid in my memory. This is my attempt to recall them, weave them to make a collage, and leave for posterity. This is important because present as well as coming generations will find it so difficult to believe that we could live and survive happily without modern amenities, appliances, and comforts. This happens with every generation. Our outgoing generations could live without those things that are considered as indispensable today. Present generations too in future would feel the same with newer implements that would be considered as indispensable by future generations. My attempt is to show the futility of dependence on things which may certainly have their utility today, but they can be dispensable also. In our good old days, we made the maximum use of minimum things, without feeling deprived or even aware of their absence.

Happy are those who have minimum desires, negativity, needs and wants; and have maximum faith, gratitude, positivity and hopes.

So, coming back to my nostalgia, let me begin with the beginning.

My brother and me, sixty-five years apart, 1950-2015

Chapter one: The childhood years

‘Believe in your destiny, but do not leave everything to it. Only after you have exhausted all your efforts, surrender to the outcome as your destiny’.

-Shyam Parashar

Shivpuri; the arena of my childhood

Shivpuri in the decade of the forties was a small town situated in the center of India on the main highway called Agra-Bombay road, about sixty miles south of Gwalior. This was the capital city of the State of Gwalior ruled by the Scindia family. it was situated in a valley surrounded by deep forests and low hills. The weather therefore was much cooler than Gwalior, hence the rulers had declared Shivpuri as their summer capital. A palace made of red stone stood at the outskirts of the town. Earlier generations of the ruling family had tried to copy the European style. Accordingly, they had constructed monuments for their family called Chhatri around a popular holy site called Banganga, situated deep in the forest. The Chhatris had mausoleums for the parents of the current ruler facing each other on east and west, as well as temples of Lord Ram and of Lord Krishna facing each other on the north and south. In the center of this square was a holy pond about five feet deep and a temple of lord Shiva in the middle of the pond. There were four bridges as passage connecting the sides to this central temple. Everything was made of pure Italian marble. The interior of the mausoleums was very posh, with carpets and rugs, deep cushions, pure white sheets and covers as well as ornamental ceiling fans. Rituals were performed everyday as would have been the practice in their hay days like Puja Arti, and artists played live music every morning and evening. There were quarters for the Maratha families around the shrine who were employed to maintain and serve the monuments. On the town side of the monument, there was a huge garden built in Italian style hence named the Italian garden. The entrance from the town to the garden and on to the shrine was through an arch way gate called Nakkarkhana. It had a balcony on the top of the arched gate where the musicians played the drums called Nagada and a trumpet called Naubat on special occasions There was a cannon nearby which was fired at six o’clock every morning and evening. Citizens of the town thus knew the exact time of the day and corrected their clocks accordingly. The ruling family visited the shrine in a royal procession twice a year on special family occasions to pay respect to the departed souls. The colorful procession was called Chabina. It started from the palace through the town to the shrine. It was led by decorated elephants, horses, and chariots followed by the royal palanquin. The loyal members of the court as well as prominent citizens walked behind the royal entourage, all dressed in typical Maratha attire including the headgear called Pagri. It was fun to see the royal procession, including the sweepers running behind the beasts picking up their droppings so that the feet of the gentry may not trample on them. Everyone would shout, Hail the king, and long live the king. The entire route was lined by spectators. We too joined the spectators with our grandparents a few times and enjoyed the show.

Our father refused the offer to join the royalties since it required him to abandon his Khadi attire and change into Darbari regalia. This was insulting to his Gandhian style of life. Self-esteem and self-respect superseded the lure of perks and promotions.

The whole shrine complex was about a mile away from the town. By the side of the hilly road leading to it was the famous Siddheshwar temple for lord Shiva where an annual fair, the Mela, was held on every Shivratri day. A little further was the state-run charitable institution called Sadawart where free food was distributed to the poor every day. On the crossroads just beyond this was the solitary electric light pole with two hanging lights appropriately called Do Batti. On the south side of it was a manmade seasonal pond called Jadav Sagar, named after the ancestors of the king. A gateway monument, just like the famous gateway of India in Bombay, stood on one side of the pond which was filled with lotus flowers and the chestnut vines. This pond, apart from a being relaxing site was also used for idol emersions after the famous Ganesh festival. At the end of this road and near the Chhatri shrine was another electrical pole but with three lights called Teen Batti. A water stream flowed from this Jadav Sagar pond westwards ending in a huge manmade lake called Chandpatha. The stream was called Karbala and was used for emersion of Tazias by Shia Muslims in the month of Muharram. The area around this stream was also used as cremation ground by Hindus. There never was any conflict between the two communities in those days; both lived harmoniously side by side.

The road beyond Chhatri led to Banganga and further to another beautiful waterfall called Bhadiya kund, which led to a manmade lake called Chandpatha. This was a very picturesque site. The waterfall was surrounded by a thicket of mangroves leading to the lake which could be approached by climbing down quite a few slippery steps. An arched marble façade stood under the waterfall surrounding an idol of lord Shiva. Devotees would risk walking down the slippery path and behind the façade to offer prayers to lord Shiva. My grandmother took me there a few times holding my hand when I was only four or five years old. The Chandpatha lake supplied water to the city and was used by the royals for boating. Accordingly, a boathouse stood at the waterfall end with two royal motorboats anchored there. At the other end of the lake was a manmade dam. Beyond it was a very thick forest where wildlife roamed freely. The Scindia family used to entertain their British guests with boating in the lake and hunting in the forest. Hunting lodges were made over the trees called Machan to facilitate organized hunting of tigers and other wildlife.

The city center of Shivpuri was called Chauraha. It was the junction of main Agra Bombay trunk road running north to south. The shrines were on the east. The road from Chauraha to the west was the main market road, half a mile long, ending at the narrow-gauge railway station. All main services like the school, hospital, post and telegraph offices, police station, town hall, collectorate, the polo ground and the king’s palace, all were situated at this west end.

The main attraction of the city center at Chauraha was the Hanuman temple, the site for evening gatherings and religious festivities. Many saints and seers visited the town from time to time and stayed at this temple for preaching and discourses.

Sometimes