Day 7

Day 6 was spent at the hospital, predominantly in the CCU, with Biji. Raj Kumari Soni was born in 1920, in the town of Kangra after the end of World War I. The daughter of Dr Bhawani Sahai Soni, a surgeon in the British Indian Army, and Smt Draupadi Devi from Bir, grew up in the Civil Hospital in Kangra where her father worked. Posted to Aden, during World War I, probably as part of the Aden Brigade, an Indian regiment, now present day Yemen, Biji's father would later on build Santosh Cottage, their home, in Kangra Town. This house was the first house to have electricity in Kangra and during Biji and Papaji's wedding in 1938 the first electric bulb in the entire Kangra Valley was lit for all the town people to witness. Biji joked that most people probably came to the wedding to see the electric bulb rather than participate in the wedding. Santosh Cottage was also the first house to have a septic tank; engineers from Calcutta came to Kangra to build the tank under Papaji's auspices. The backyard, now, has the biggest mango tree that I have ever seen and the house remains, largely unchanged, apart from a new roof, since it was first built in the 30's.

If normal humans run at a 100% Biji runs at about 115 - 120 % Her blood sugar is a bit higher than normal, her heart rate and BP are a bit higher,  and the pitch of her voice is also a bit higher than usual. However, right now, her heart is beating considerably higher than the usual 115 % Right now, its running at about 175% approximately 150 beats per minute and it refuses to fall. Its been doing this for at least the last 10 days. This is the second time that she has been in the CCU in the last 3 weeks. She was in Failure when she went in, on Day 2. The decision has been made to cardiovert and as I sit in the CCU, intermittently I glance up from my book, watching her sleep with her mouth open, but not snoring. She looks gaunt and tired, but when she wakes up this time, at around 3 pm, she wants to sit up and we start talking about Himachal and her childhood. This, for me, is my favorite topic of discussion. Both Biji's and Papaji's life to me is something out of a steampunk fantasy novel. Their experiences seem far removed from my own, as if we're now living in a 'real world', whereas the one they lived in, and spent most of their time in, is somehow, removed from the present. The words 'glory days' come to mind.

Mr and Mrs Khanna with Mr Jaiswal ~ Mid 70's

In my head this is what they look like, younger, dashing, filled with life, not the aged grandparents who I know now. Heart beating its life away or hands trembling, but insistent to still use knives, despite the many cuts the fingers receive. My time spent with Biji talking about her time in Himachal is a window into my own sense of youth as much as it a window into my own sense of how I will age. At the time that Papaji was Chairman of IFCI, I've been told that they would inevitably be either at Ashoka Hotel or Oberoi - Socializing - every day - Biji would later maintain that she would get bored and Papaji, a teetotaler, I wonder what he would do, amongst a sea of people sipping their drinks? The women watching the men, sort of like a old timey cricket match.

This morning the heart that was beating at 140 is now beating at 55 in response to two life giving jolts of 150 Joules and some large doses of Amiodarone and Beta Blockers... large doses. Those individual cardiac cells, beating to the beat of their own drums, now seem to be beating in unison. The last five hours have seen my appetite return, and I've conceded that I should probably buy some pickle to take back with me to the US. I rejoin work on Day 10, the same time that the family, in Delhi, makes its way back to the crematorium and then to Haridwar to immerse Papaji's remains in the Ganga. Day 10 is important but I will not be a part of it. Such is life Papaji would say.

Day 5

Shri Charan Das Khanna (1914 - 2012) ~ 98 Yrs

On Monday, February 13th 2012, Shri C D Khanna, 'Papaji', passed away at about 11 am IST. He is survived by his wife Smt Raj Khanna, his four children, their children, and his great grand children, Arjun, AKA, His Billuness, Virat Arjan Singh Kirori Mal of Chhaganpur and Anika AKA, Her Bossiness, Princess Anika of Chhamakpur - However, those titles are another story... This story is about my grandfather, Mr C D Khanna. This story is about one of the people who unknowingly became a profound influence on the way I think, on how I view myself as a person, an Indian and what I think a 'good person' should be like.

Papaji was born in a small town called Shahpur, in Kangra District, then part of the State of Punjab, in 1914, in Colonial India. Papaji was second youngest of four siblings and grew up in austere surroundings. The son of Shri Ram Rakha Mal studied in Government School Dharamsala till his metriculate. Interestingly, Dev Anand, renowned Indian Film Star went to the same school and wound have been some ten years Papaji's junior. Always a brilliant student (the only way he could stay in school was through scholarships), he graduated from Government College Lahore, Punjab University with a Master's in English; and by 1938 had landed his first job in Commercial Banking. He was married in the same year to Rajinder Kumari and they settled in Shimla for some time.

Fast forward to 1975, after a long tenure at the Industrial Finance Corporation of India (1948 - 75), Papaji relinquished his position as the first 'In-House' Chairman of IFCI and became Honorary (yes that means he wasn't paid - more on that later) Chairman at the Risk Capital Foundation, an offshoot of the IFCI, created by Papaji to encourage technocrats to become entrepreneurs by providing them with interest free loans. Hailed in his memoirs, by those that knew him professionally, as an innovative visionary, he studied international banking systems and adopted, freely, best practices from the World and the Commonwealth Development Banks. He also created a Management Development Institute to train Managers for these new, up and coming, entrepreneurial ventures that were nascent in the late seventies. He encouraged his children to seek the best education possible and with that encouragement, both he and Biji (my grand mother) were the proud parents of two Doctors, a Nuclear Physicist and a Chemical Engineer.

My first memory of him, however, happens a bit later. It would have been sometime around 1983. In my head I'm guessing I was 5 years old when this happened and so I have arbitrarily dated this memory to have occurred at that time. Papaji would have retired from RCF and was serving on the board of several public and private entities. He would always be flying to either Calcutta, Bombay or Madras and I would ride in the car to pick him up from the airport. Of course my motive for doing so was rather selfish. Airlines at that time, Air India still might these days as well, would give toffees and eclairs to its passengers, both, during landing and takeoff. Papaji would save some for us and I would eagerly wait for him to return so that I could get a toffee. I must admit that a small eclair was a big treat for me then. These days I have to make do with some form of almond or chocolate croissant to achieve the same sort of satisfaction. How times have changed! Those early treats paint a vivid portrayal of the person who would later on, as I finished medical school, shape my world view on what can be achieved by sheer dedication and belief.

Today, on the 5th day after his death, in between the 4th and 10th day ceremonies, I find myself in the surreal position of visiting my grand mother in the Cardiac Care Unit of Fortis Hospital, New Delhi. She has been there since the day after his passing, her heart rate refusing to fall below 150 beats per minute. As we run out of medical options to lower her heart I consider the week that is about to finish. Over the previous weekend I was preparing a presentation for an Entrepreneurship Course on Identifying Target Markets, then suddenly, I'm on a plane bound for Delhi. On landing, I find out that the Israeli diplomat that was targeted in a recent car bomb attack happens to be our tenant and that a friend's father passed away on Monday, too, due to cardiac arrest... All on Monday!

Throughout this storm of emotions I will hold on to what has been bequeathed to me by virtue of, my good fortune of, being born into this family. A stubbornness to do what is right and perhaps an obsession to dream big and to think of the possibilities in life. I have started this blog to recollect my memories of, not only my grandfather, but to recollect those experiences that have influenced me, the human stories that shape who I am. I am filled with the possibilities of life and want, desperately, for my grandmother to come home. According to Hinduism, the 13th Day ceremonies are her last chance to say goodbye before the passing soul departs from its earthly trappings... but more importantly Biji needs to come home so that we can console her and we can be a family once again. Papaji I miss you... Biji come home.

I am struck by the profoundness of the world we live in, in the experiences, both kind and sad, that we, as humans, undergo. I am sad for those that are left behind but I have the fortitude to put on a smiling face and to encourage everyone to be the best that they can be. These are the lessons that have been handed down to me... these are the lessons that I am duty bound to share with everyone. These are the lessons that make me tick... tic tic tic