Mining the essence of a life well lived
I first met Harihara Iyer in 2009 in a hurried and anxious setting – not for him, but for me. He wasn't particularly interested in me, but I was hoping to win over his daughter's interest! I'll never forget his opening salvo to me 17 years ago. I would dread such a question from a prospective employer, but coming from a suitor's father, it was downright jarring. He skipped the pleasantries and cut straight to the chase: "Are you a CA?" (He knew I wasn't). The question pierced right through my gut!
But I rattled off my rehearsed response, highlighting my MBA and certifications (including Hindi Prachar Sabha, of course!). However, his attention had already wandered midway through my meandering response, and I could almost hear him mumbling, "Next groom, please."
Despite that shaky start, our bond grew over shared interests in politics and macroeconomics. We'd discuss election results and India's economic landscape, and I'd nod enthusiastically, even when I disagreed with his overly optimistic views. Our common ground expanded to our passion for our respective professions. I would feign interest in mining and energy conservation and see his face light up. But he listened to my hotel stories with great interest, often pitching energy conservation projects that I would tactfully sidestep. He had a passion for his work that was almost old-school – the kind that predates work-life balance and woke nonsense. Where purpose and pride trumped everything else.
He'd often quip that I was "married to Marriott," a phrase I borrowed for various forums. Wordplay was really his thing. In hindsight, I wish I'd responded with: "Yes, I'm a CA – Compassionate Ally for your daughter." Perhaps I would have been too clever by half back then.
Even in his final days, his identity as a mining engineer still sparkled. To the last doctor he met on the final day, he proudly introduced himself as such - 'I am a Mining engineer' (not 'was'). Just a month before his passing away, he was considering an energy consulting project, undeterred by his declining health. His passion for his work remained unwavering until the end – it was his raison d'être.
I've learned many valuable lessons from him, particularly about prioritizing health and embracing life with a sense of purpose – a joie de vivre that inspired those around him. As one of his yoga students, I received personalized guidance, and his commentary during Bhujangasana still resonates deep inside me. After a significant health scare in his 60s, he defied conventional advice and opted for lifestyle changes instead of surgery. It took his family 20 years to acknowledge he was right, but he didn't seek their validation. His legacy lives on through me, his son-in-law, who has inherited his habit of offering unsolicited diet advice. I guess you could say some in-laws can never be outlawed.
In his final moments, he wasn't melancholic or reflective; he was resolute. While everyone around him knew the end was near, he remained optimistic. He seemed unaware of the commotion around him. He was oblivious to the tears and whispers. His last wish was just to return home and watch "His Highness Abdullah" onelast more time.
Despite that shaky start, our bond grew over shared interests in politics and macroeconomics. We'd discuss election results and India's economic landscape, and I'd nod enthusiastically, even when I disagreed with his overly optimistic views. Our common ground expanded to our passion for our respective professions. I would feign interest in mining and energy conservation and see his face light up. But he listened to my hotel stories with great interest, often pitching energy conservation projects that I would tactfully sidestep. He had a passion for his work that was almost old-school – the kind that predates work-life balance and woke nonsense. Where purpose and pride trumped everything else.
He'd often quip that I was "married to Marriott," a phrase I borrowed for various forums. Wordplay was really his thing. In hindsight, I wish I'd responded with: "Yes, I'm a CA – Compassionate Ally for your daughter." Perhaps I would have been too clever by half back then.
Even in his final days, his identity as a mining engineer still sparkled. To the last doctor he met on the final day, he proudly introduced himself as such - 'I am a Mining engineer' (not 'was'). Just a month before his passing away, he was considering an energy consulting project, undeterred by his declining health. His passion for his work remained unwavering until the end – it was his raison d'être.
I've learned many valuable lessons from him, particularly about prioritizing health and embracing life with a sense of purpose – a joie de vivre that inspired those around him. As one of his yoga students, I received personalized guidance, and his commentary during Bhujangasana still resonates deep inside me. After a significant health scare in his 60s, he defied conventional advice and opted for lifestyle changes instead of surgery. It took his family 20 years to acknowledge he was right, but he didn't seek their validation. His legacy lives on through me, his son-in-law, who has inherited his habit of offering unsolicited diet advice. I guess you could say some in-laws can never be outlawed.
In his final moments, he wasn't melancholic or reflective; he was resolute. While everyone around him knew the end was near, he remained optimistic. He seemed unaware of the commotion around him. He was oblivious to the tears and whispers. His last wish was just to return home and watch "His Highness Abdullah" one
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