My father –  a tribute to Late T.S. Srinivasan by his son – eminent artist T.S. Narayanaswamy

It was 1958 or 59. That theatre was terribly crowded. A long serpentine queue ran for getting the tickets. He had to come to buy tickets. Suddenly he plucked a stick from a nearby tree and started regulating the crowd and then silently walked up to the counter, and got two tickets before the crowd reacted.

It was election time in the 1960’s , there too was this familiar face enquiring about who is leading in the counting booth. He looked very much one of the party men, stout and dark, shirt sleeves rolled over with one hand holding the tip of his dhoti. Though he wasn’t, election trends just excited him.

Much later, at work he would start from home to office and also to meet clients. They would just be eagerly waiting for him, drop all other work just to hear him, his humorous anecdotes and general views on world happenings. Incidentally he will acquire some business too.

There were days when big business heads have dropped by  home in luxury cars to conclude a deal with him. There were occasions when a few have turned up in a cycle too. Both were treated with the same respect , offered coffee and entertained with enjoyable conversation.

He would visit the most distant relative often, spend entertaining time with them and then humorously narrate those episodes to us at home. Saturday, Sundays or any weddings or occasions, he was always at the center enthralling other family members with his quick wit and jokes.

He will often look at himself in the mirror, admire the curls in his hair and would ask us if he resembles that particular actor and then laugh.

I was really scared of him. Not because he was rude or scolding. Together in a bus, he will call me by my name and enquire loudly about the detailed lunch menu at home, much to the amusement of all other passengers and me, red in the face.

At an Udupi hotel, he will invariably call the waiter by a name Palani or Mani and the latter would smilingly wonder how he knew his name. Then he will point out to a couple sitting in another table and correctly predict what they would order for tiffin.

On that final day, February of 1978, I had least predicted that when I returned home from college that he would have taken such a sudden long journey.

All the above was Cheenu, T.S Srinivasan , his exploits, humane  and humorous nature… father ! ( a short but impactful association )

This sketch is more out of memory and from a photo too small to decipher.

Happy father’s day

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