It is an equivalent of the Portuguese ‘Sogro’. The suffix ‘ji’ added here, however, is crucial, because it conveys respect, obligation, and the understanding that these are men whose personalities were fully formed even before one’s arrival, and will remain unchanged long after one has given up, well, arguing.
I have known my Sasurji for over 40 years, which means I have negotiated with him, challenged him, been irritated by him and now, quite against my better judgement, grown fond of him. All in all, ours has been an eventful relationship, fuelled by mutual stubbornness and held together by time, duty and, ultimately, care.
When I married into the family, Sasurji was already a finished product. A well-established petroleum engineer, he believed that life should run like an oil refinery, with systems and hierarchies, and zero tolerance for leaks.
Therefore, I, as a young daughter-in-law with opinions, was clearly an unexpected complication. A major spillage so to speak.
Politically, Sasurji is a devoted follower of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Prime Minister Modi, but spiritually, he places complete faith in chanting the Hanuman Chalisa, which, according to him, can solve everything.
For the uninitiated, Hanuman Chalisa is a 40-verse devotional hymn dedicated to Lord Hanuman (in Hindu mythology), symbolising strength, courage, and protection from trouble.
In India, millions chant it daily for comfort and Sasurji treats it as an universal troubleshooting guide. Health scare or family tension? Chant the Hanuman Chalisa. National confusion? Chant it louder!
His spiritual seriousness deepened with age and, at 60, when many people slow down, Sasurji taught himself Sanskrit so that he could read the Upanishads, which are ancient philosophical Hindu texts exploring big questions like, who we are, why we exist, and how everything in life is connected.
For 20 years, Sasurji lived with us, his eldest banker son and me, across five countries. He adapted impressively to new places, while remaining ideologically immovable. He knew more about banking than the banker, more about politics than television debates, and later, when he moved to Delhi, to live with his second son and daughter-in-law (both doctors), he seamlessly knew more about medicine than them too.
But somewhere along the way things changed as Sasurji began reading my weekly newspaper columns religiously. He analysed them, critiqued them, sometimes disagreed with them, but never missed one. This, I realised, was affection in his language, attention wrapped in correction.
Meanwhile, now there is Truffle, the feisty beagle he acquired two years ago and loves more than his three sons, three daughters-in-law, one daughter, one son-in-law, three grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren, all combined. Truffle is adored, indulged, and forgiven everything while the rest of us are merely tolerated and have to grudgingly accept our ranking.
Celebrating his milestone 90th birthday last week, the family gathered together for lunch at a fancy resort near Delhi where Truffle could not make it. We realised that there were two cakes to mark the occasion and Sasurji decided to cut both of them simultaneously.
“Why you looking sad, Dad?” my husband asked as his father blew the candles.
“Must be missing someone,” his brother muttered.
“Who you missing?” we chorused.
Sasurji looked at me straight, willing me to answer.
I took a deep breath, guessing the truth.
“Truffle,” I announced, watching his face crease with happiness.
Read Nickunj Malik’s last article: Darling ladies
