My Father, My Hero An Interactive Journey Through a Legacy of Leadership and Service

I faintly remember my early childhood—perhaps during my Montessori days. Back then, my father was the secretary of the colony we lived in. We didn’t own a house there at the time, but he was still chosen to lead. Later, he did purchase a house in that same colony.

Why was he made secretary without owning property? Because the plot on which the colony was built had been acquired through the efforts of the Mahindra & Mahindra management for their workers, facilitated by the Workers' Union. My father was an active member of that union. The colony had a small society office, where my father spent a lot of time, and he would occasionally take me there. I still remember watching him resolve disputes between residents and handle administrative matters. Observing him in action—intervening with calm authority—left a lasting impression on me.

At the time, some buildings were still under construction. I’d often watch the children of laborers get into arguments, and I found myself trying to mediate. I don’t know how much I could have really achieved at that age, but my mother would often tell people how I used to talk to them and try to pacify them. That, I now realize, was the first time my father’s influence began to show in me.

But my father wasn’t just a leader in the society or union—he played a key role within our family too. He took up responsibility at a very young age. His father passed away when he was still a child. The eldest brother left home and never returned. The burden fell on my father, even though his youngest sister was still an infant. With no steady source of income, he had to study while working part-time at local shops—just to make ends meet. This difficult phase instilled in him a strong sense of responsibility and a desire to ensure that his loved ones and community could live with dignity.

He realized early on that staying in Kerala would never pull his family out of poverty. So he made a bold move to Mumbai (then Bombay). He hoped his well-off relatives in the city would help. The "support" he received was a return ticket to Kerala and a warning that he wouldn’t survive in Mumbai. Whether it was that rejection or the tough circumstances back home, something pushed him to stay. At one point, he even had to sleep on the footpath. Progress, back then, meant graduating to a labor camp in Matunga, and later, to Asia’s largest slum—Dharavi.

Eventually, he managed to secure jobs in both the public and private sectors. While job-hopping is common today, back then, people clung to their roles out of fear of instability. Before he joined Mahindra—where he spent the bulk of his career—his longest stint was seven years as a BEST bus conductor. He often took the night shift so he could learn shorthand during the day. He not only mastered it, but later became a teacher at the very institute where he had studied. That extra income helped ease our family’s burdens.

Once he became financially stable, he helped many nephews and nieces get jobs. As soon as they completed 10th standard, he’d bring them to Mumbai and assist them in finding employment. His generosity extended to distant relatives and friends from the village too. This innate kindness made him a natural fit in various social organizations. Whenever he joined one, he would inevitably be elected to a leadership role.

His most significant contributions were during his working years: serving as secretary of the Mahindra Colony, an active member of AITUC, and a leader in the Mahindra & Mahindra Workers’ Union. Even after retirement, when he moved back to his native village, his drive to serve the community did not fade. Surprisingly—despite being a staunch Communist—his biggest post-retirement contributions were toward a temple and the local traders’ association.

His involvement with the temple began with a dilapidated Shiva shrine, which he helped restore. He then turned his attention to the village's main goddess temple, bringing structure to its administration and ensuring proper rituals were followed. Understanding that many villagers couldn’t afford wedding halls, he led the initiative to build a community hall at nominal cost—creating both a social asset and a source of income for the temple.

Owning a small hardware shop near the village junction drew him into the Traders’ Association, which at the time was virtually defunct. Once he joined, he was quickly elected president. Under his leadership, the association became cash-surplus and even built its own premises, creating a sustainable income source.

Now, at 91, he has stepped back from active social work. Age has taken its toll—his vision and hearing have significantly weakened. Yet, the associations he once served still reach out to him for important events.

Among the many relatives he helped over the years—many of whom are now well-settled and independent—only a few have shown gratitude. While he insists that he did only what was right, I know it hurts him when those he supported fail to acknowledge his efforts.

What I’ve shared here are only glimpses of his life—there’s so much more that could fill a novel. Sadly, stories of everyday struggles rarely find an audience. We are too caught up with fame and headlines. Yet people have turned to him not just for social work, but also for family disputes, and they’ve wanted him to be present for weddings, housewarmings, naming ceremonies… They value his presence and blessings deeply.

During his years in Mumbai, I saw him face angry mobs during society meetings or labor union disputes. He never flinched. Social work, after all, is a thankless job. You do it for the benefit of others, not personal gain. Times have changed—social work is no longer widely pursued or respected—but I come from that school of thought. I saw my father give selflessly, with purpose.

These days, he often talks about his achievements. To some, it may sound like he's boasting. But I know: when others stood on the sidelines pointing fingers, he took the lead to get things done. Many may not remember what he did—but they continue to benefit from his efforts.

I remember one society meeting in Mumbai, long after he had moved away. Many women who had lost their husbands and rarely attended meetings came that day. When they saw him, they surrounded him with affection and gratitude. He always says, “I don’t have a big bank balance, but those who remember me with love and thankfulness—that’s my real wealth.”

As I reflect on my 53rd birthday, I realize I have survived in this competitive world, though I may not have achieved the kind of impact he did. I haven’t built the legacy he built. But his life continues to inspire me—to do good, to stand for others, and to never give up.

To me, my father is, and always will be, my greatest hero and lifelong influencer.

The question I now ask myself is—have I done enough to inspire and influence my own child, the way my he did, to become his hero?