Dad always wanted me to write. He was always begging me to publish this long fiction story I wrote in the 7th grade. I remember it was a murder mystery set in Jamaica (I’d never been there) and I wrote it on this old - school Apple computer we had in our basement. Dad stayed with me on this project and helped me write it and edit it, late into the night before it was due.
It is hard to believe he is gone.
One of the best things I’ve ever done was in 2003. I took a year off from work and school to live with my parents in India. In that time, my father and I became friends.
Our relationship changed from one of parent and child to friends that would ask each other for advice and discuss philosophy and edit each other’s works. He was more relaxed, and I was more relaxed. I understood him, and why he would get mad and why he’d become happy. And he began to understand me.
We would sit at the dining room table and argue and discuss the various points of philosophy. Sometimes he would tell me stories, of every day things like how nosy people are at the bus stop. He would tell me how some guy started talking to him and asked what he did, how much money he made, how many children he had, were they married? If not, why not? What to do with the girl that was unmarried, etc. And still he enjoyed it. He loved living in India, in Mysore.
Sri. S K Harihareshwara receiving the prestigious Kannada Rajyothsava Award from the then CM Mr. S. M. Krishna
I came to Mysore to laugh. My father was hilarious. He would make fun of people, situations, and best of all my, mother. He, slowly, as the years went by, would also laugh at himself. I would make fun of his books, and ask him “who will read a Kannada book about sparrows?” And he’d laugh good – naturedly.
So much of who I am comes from my father. He was a philanthropist. He was a philosopher. He was a comedian. He was deeply spiritual. He was a writer.
Because of all of this, because we were friends, because he was happy with his life, because he died painlessly, I can live on. He taught me that there is so much to live for, so much to do. So many people to help, so many things to celebrate. In his death, I will continue to follow my father’s footsteps and continue writing, making friends, and improving the world.
Nandini Harihareshwara
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