Where there’s a will

(Written about 2020)

Where there’s a will, there is the weight of something to be done usually. But there are wills that embody a life style.  

I recently found two old wills written by my father. The first, dated 16 December 1983, is typed up on that yellowish paper of peculiar dimensions that used to be found with notaries and in government offices. It was witnessed by two of his colleagues -- his devoted assistant P Sethumadhavan, and Raju Korah. The later one is handwritten and dated 17 June 1990. The provisions of the two testaments are substantially the same --- leaving his small savings and modest flat to my mother, and expressing gratitude to her and to his sons, friends and colleagues. Both conclude with a desire that there be no religious rituals post his death. 

The first Will (of 16 December 1983), written before he was 60, begins with a bland statement that he retired from government service on 30th April of that year, and while he was continuing to work in the same position, “it is an appropriate occasion to think of a time when I shall not be around”. He goes on to write: “I have travelled light and do not have many belongings. The act of writing a will therefore becomes an academic exercise. But it is good to make things easier for those who survive.” Well, one could quibble that he did have a large number of belongings, in the form of nearly ten thousand books, but these are not the kind of effects that get listed in a will. In any case he spent the last few years of his life in the “academic exercise” of selecting and handing off those books to people whom he thought were appropriate recipients for them, an act he likened in an article to a traditional father finding grooms for his daughters. He goes on to write: “My father did not leave any immovable property. I have failed to follow his example, and am trying to acquire a house by becoming a member of the CIS Officers’ Cooperative Group Housing Society...”, listing the modest amount he had paid up till then. The rest of his assets, around a few tens of thousand rupees in various bank accounts and savings schemes, and some objects, books and a couple of paintings given to him by friends, were bequeathed to my mother. Having no belief in ritual, he wanted a plain, unsentimental farewell -- for which he depended on his wife and sons, who he says “meant much to me”.

The second Will, dated 17 June 1990, begins with “Wills are left by those who have wealth. I did not make money and money did not make me. During the forty-four years of my working life, I acquired a small flat <details elided>, and a car, which I bought twenty years ago, and saved about Rs 1,75,000, which I have deposited in <bank account details elided>. All these I leave to my wife, Kamalamma, the person who means most to me in life, who has shared my outlook and has helped me to resist ambition.” He goes on to write: “With my physical problem of a blocked carotid artery, my sincere hope is that I shall not become so incapacitated as to be a burden on my wife. She knows I do not believe in rituals, and I do not want any religious rites when I am no more.”

This desire was not to be, for he suffered Parkinson’s disease for several years, with my mother bravely looking after him through his physical ordeals. But his Will was done -- there were no religious rites at his funeral, at which several friends and colleagues were present. With my mother’s firm veto, we were able to quash an attempt from one quarter at performing some rituals.

In the years after he wrote these testaments, there came up two new major “claimants” to his legacy -- his grandsons. While he gave them little by way of material possessions, what he left for them was far more precious: his unconditional love and his integrity.