Dear Editor,
As my family mourn the passing of our gardener who touched the lives of all seven of us, I cannot help but note how in our society, obituaries seem reserved for the rich, the powerful and the famous. And how the remarkable qualities of the less fortunate are ignored in their lifetimes and forgotten at their death. He was sixty-nine years old but no one, young or old, knew him by any name other than ‘Pops.’ Since his sudden death last Friday, the members of our family have been expressing their impressions of Pops and it is remarkable how we each saw him in our own special way.
Christelle who is ten remembers Pops not as the gardener but for the way, “We all felt like family,” for being there every day, not as work but as a hobby.
She remembers Pops for always watching over her, her sister Christen and brother Christoff with care and love as they played outside in the yard.
Christen remembers seeing him coming to work on his red bike, putting on his hat when the sun was hot and taking refuge in the garden shed when it was unbearably so. She remembers him as always being at Ogle – in the morning when she woke up, to the time she came from school, and after she migrated, on her vacation from the US. She recalls how if there was a stray cat around, he didn’t get rid of it, he took it home and cared for it.
Ravee remembers Pops as simple a man as one can ever know. One who could neither read nor write but whose life proved that one does not have to be an intellect to be special. Having known Pops since he was an early teenager, Ravee’s fondest memories of Pops are the times he would sit outside on the patio at Ogle and just ‘gaff’ with Pops.
From those “dozens of conversations” over the years [and no doubt for Pops’ helping to slip him in the house when he came in late after the rest of us were asleep], Ravee remembers Pops as loyal, honest and caring.
Christoff who is perhaps the quietest of our children remembers Pops as “a man who you could talk to for hours on end no matter what you are doing.” He recalls how Pops could carry on a conversation about most things and how he had something to say whenever Christoff went outside.
Ena recalls that having first worked as a tiler while the house was being built, Pops brought a garden into being from what was up to then a pasture, giving life to their ideas and richness and warmth to the yard. He was always reluctant to prune the plants, arguing that to cut off the flowers or fruits was a sin. Practical man as he was, while taking care of the flower garden, he argued respectfully for more attention and space for the kitchen garden, noting, “You can’t eat flower plant.”
For me, Pops represented treasured values and an era that is sadly passing. He cared for our children with love and respect, treated his job as sacred, never missed a day’s work on account of rain or shine, ill-health or holiday, never quite trusted the motor car, thought the computer flash drive I sometimes carry around my neck as a “tabeej” (the Hindu phial to ward off evil), never questioned an instruction or a request that he cover for someone who had not turned up for work. He had a remarkable sense of humour and brought to the daily discussion with his colleagues the most practical point of view, scolding Benjie, who works in the house, “Man han(d) mek fuh wuk, nah clap roti,” or telling Ena, if she dabbles with her hands in the garden, “You nah doo dah, da ah me wuk, you guh look after de bass.”
He was caring and loving. I never heard him raise his voice to anyone and he would willingly offer to share his modest lunch with any of our other staff, even as he took out his false teeth to start his meal.
He was the only Indian among the Ogle staff but mixed freely, could discuss race without causing offence and was great fun to be with.
Recently he and I were discussing his future and as he looked forward, his words were, “Me nah ah guh nowhere, ah right ya me guh dead.” I thought there and then how much Ena, Ravee, Roger, the three youngest ones and I are indebted to him.
I actually looked forward to the day when we could do something for Pops, to help him through his old age, as he has done for us as a family for fifteen years. Now, that opportunity has gone and we are left with cherished memories of one of the greatest men I have met, my father included.
We were indeed fortunate to know him and have him as a member of our family for as long as the youngest children have been around.
When they went to live in the States it was Pops with whom I shared my Sunday mornings while he tended the plants and vegetables as if some divine authority was causing him to act with the highest standard of love for the land, for nature, for his colleagues, his grandchildren and for us.
Christen, as children do, thought that his enduring qualities would cause him to be there forever. He may not be, but his memories and values will be.
Farewell, Pops, you have done your duty, made your mark and as Ena suggests, you are called on to other gardens. We will miss you though.
Yours faithfully,
Christopher Ram
and family
