My dear family, friends, and all of gathered here; vannakam.
Those of you who know me will realize that it is very unusual for me to be wearing an open collar button down shirt. My weekday routine is black jeans and a black t-shirt. The only reason I am wearing this today is because the last time I saw Rajen Aṇṇā,1 he presented me with this shirt.
“Thanks very much, but what’s the occasion?” I asked.
He answered with his usual guileless honesty, “I was given this as a present, but I don’t wear things like this, so I asked myself who likes black shirts, and I thought of you.”
It was not the only thing he had brought for me. A month earlier, I had called him for advice on getting brackets for another bookshelf. “If you’re not in a hurry,” he said, “I’ve got some brackets and I’ll get them to you.” Sure enough, he had brought those brackets for me.
I was in a hurry and needed to get out of there but Rajen Aṇṇā always had projected this aura of calm and tranquility which makes the rest of us rethink our priorities; so of course, I could not leave without sitting down for a cup of tea and a conversation with him.
But let me start at the beginning.
I was a few months short of my 10 th birthday when my grandmother informed me that Gana Akkā would be getting married and moving out of 16 Henwood Road where we all lived. Even more horrific was the news that Gana Akkā's mother — who my mother called “Thangatsinnai” and Ranjan and I called “Gana Aya” — would be going with her.
Understand that Gana Aya was out and away the best cook in the family, and her mutton and potatoes was unrivalled with the possible exception of Red Hill Athai. So, without having met him, I took an instant dislike to this interloper who was now depriving me of two of my family. I remember a discussion where a family member (whom I have not spoken to for decades) disparagingly described him as a bricklayer.
When I finally got to meet Rajen Aṇṇā and his siblings at their home in Everton Road, he had a ready smile and was full of joie de vivre. It was impossible to not like him.
Now that I look back at those days, I realize that he spent an extraordinary amount of time paying attention to me.
When he realized I had an interest in chess, he procured a chess board and began playing with me on a regular basis. It took me a long time before I was able to beat him, and when I finally did, his own sense of pleasure was clearly visible.
Once, I showed him the back of a box of Pronutro which had instructions on how to swim the breast stroke and told him that I wanted to learn how to swim properly. The following morning at 6 o clock, we were at the Asherville swimming pool with him teaching me how to swim.
I went off to boarding school in India 1975. When I came back home on holiday at the end of the year, they were renting a cottage at VS Chetty’s home in Asherville. Gana Akka put on a spread for me including roast chicken which I wiped out.
Meanwhile, Rajen Aṇṇā was quietly going through the process of enrolling at university and equipping himself with a B Com degree and with a teaching diploma. When I returned home again two years later, the family had moved to Phoenix and Rajen Anna was now a teacher.
Under normal circumstances, he would probably have gone on to be promoted to HOD and then Principal, but somewhere along the way, he was drawn into conversation with Swami Sahajananda at the Divine Life society.
It was a life-changing moment. He abandoned the physical sanctuary of secure employment in the education sector and instead chose the spiritual sanctuary of the teachings of Gurudev. He became a vegetarian, turned his back on vices, and threw himself headlong into being a footsoldier for Swami Sahajananda’s vision.
His skills in the construction industry were now channeled into construction of the new ashram in Desainagar. When the family moved to Verulam, Rajen Anna could be found working on the roof of the community centre being built there by Divine Life. Gana Akka would often receive requests from Rajen Aṇṇā for tea and sandwiches for up to 20 people working with him on the construction site.
Over the years that followed, Rajen Aṇṇā became the spiritual leader within the family. He was the first to be called upon to say a few words whether the occasion was celebration or bereavement. When there were downtrodden members of the family who lost their way, Rajen Aṇṇā would be the first to extend assistance, reaching into his own pocket. He would casually mention in conversation to many of us that he had done this, which of course shamed us to reach into our own pockets to support these efforts — certainly Ganesa and I were among those he caught this way.
After the death of Swami Sahajananda who had not declared a successor as spiritual leader at Divine Life, Rajen Aṇṇā became the de facto leader of the group administering the society and building on its mission.
The point at which he was forced to part ways with the Divine Life society because of internal politicking left him rudderless. It had been his entire life’s mission to carry out the vision instilled in him by Swamiji more than 40 years ago.
Over the years since then, he continued to be that pillar of support for all of us as family and friends. His speech at my mother’s 90 th birthday in January this year was Rajen Aṇṇā at his best, marking the occasion with wit, warmth, and wisdom.
Which now brings me to that single morning barely two weeks ago where he handed me this shirt. I had no idea that that would be the last time I would get to sit with him, sip tea, and delight in the conversation.
I feel a tremendous sense of loss, as I know, all of us here today also do.
But I will not grieve.
I will celebrate the fact that we were so incredibly blessed to have him in our lives. I thank Gana Akka, Umakanthan, Shambavi, and Bashkaran for allowing him to spend so much time with the rest of us.
If what we, as Hindus, believe about the cycle of birth, death, and reincarnation is true, I’ve no doubt he has paid his karmic debt and attained moksha and is now in the company of Gurudev.
Hari Om.
- 1. The Tamil word for "Big brother" is "அண்ணா" (pronounced as "Aṇṇā"). It is a term of respect and endearment used to address an older brother or an elder male figure in a familial or close-knit context.