How can we even try and describe someone so special in ordinary words? And, how could we possibly sum up the feelings and memories we have in just one tribute? It’s almost impossible because we have had 50 years to think about it. There is so much to say. From children to adults, it has been a long journey and we pay tribute in a song that our beloved Dada sang frequently.
Danny Boy (Cover)
Tribute by Asha Elisha
Our Dada, Cyril Edwin James Elisha was born on 27th November 1927, at Lahore (now in Pakistan), to John and Grace Elisha. Their second son, he was a typical Sunday’s child – bonny and blythe, and good and gay.
Our father was blessed with a larger-than-life personality, a brilliant mind, and multiple talents. Bored by his mundane job in a national bank, and craving excitement, he decided to join the police force, and at age 23 years, he became the youngest IAS officer in India.
Enrolling into the Indian Police Service, he completed his training at Mount Abu, where he soon became an accomplished horseman, athlete, and a crack shot with a gun. There was never a dull moment with my father around. A gifted storyteller, as wide-eyed children, we were enthralled by his tales of hunting tigers and dacoits in the Chambal valley. We couldn’t wait for second Saturdays, when we would either go shooting or picnicking in and around Bangalore and later, Mysore. We would bag doves and pigeons for the most part, which my mother would cook for us when we got home.
Sometimes, in the evenings, we would go for a drive to Lakeview for ice cream, and sit on the benches at the side of MG Road, watching the traffic and pedestrians pass by. Sometimes, we would drive to Ulsoor lake and peep over the sides of the lake while our parents sat on the benches there. We often went boating on the lake, armed with a delicious picnic lunch packed by my mother. Sausages and ham from the Bangalore Ham Shop made into sandwiches were staples of our picnic basket, along with home-made cake, bakery biscuits, fruit, and lime juice. Sometimes we would buy a different kind of sausage which our father swore was bear meat. It was only many years later when we were adults that we realised he had been pulling a fast one.
Every now and then, our father had to go on ‘inspection’ tours. We used to joyfully tag along during the holidays and enjoyed the VIP treatment we got whenever we stayed at the TBs – Traveler’s Bungalows. Kanva, Coonoor, Nandi hills, Bandipur were some of our favourite places. We spent many happy times clambering on the rocks, birdwatching, and catching butterflies with our butterfly nets for our collection. A man of many hobbies, we learned about fauna and flora, pressed flowers, and became amateur philatelists and coin collectors. We walked through Lal Bagh and Cubbon Park, admiring the flowers at the flower show, going on the toy train rides, and lolling on the grass with our usual picnic lunch.
Music and singing were an integral part of our young lives. Our father had an outstanding tenor voice and enthralled people with his renditions of all genres of music. We learned to sing at his knee and he taught us all his favourite songs – Gospel, Classics, Opera, Broadway, Folk songs, Fun songs, and many more. We avidly listened to his collection of 78 RPMs and sang along with the gramophone. The 45 RPMs and LPs came later, with the record player and the radio cabinet.
Naturally, we joined the cathedral choir and one of our exercises was to sing hymns ‘by heart’ on our way to and from church. Before long, many of these were engraved on our very souls. When St Mark’s Cathedral Choir released the LP of the Church of South India’s sung liturgical service from HMV House, my father was one of the tenors who contributed to this great work.
Photography was another of his hobbies, which is why we have so many photos of us growing up. My father loved to photograph all of us and we were only too happy to pose for him. He instilled in us a love of books and literature, all of us had our favourite authors. We had to read for at least half an hour before we turned into bed, sometimes we used to read aloud to each other. He was also a poet and wrote some beautiful, sensitive poetry as well.
When he was transferred to Mysore as the Deputy Inspector General of Police, we were reluctant to leave our beloved Bangalore. We thought we would miss our friends and the fulfilling life we had here, but that was the best time of our childhood. We got to live in a large, rambling house, with a huge garden and child-friendly trees with broad branches, where we could curl up with an interesting book. Our baby sister, Anu was fascinated by the large, plump grubs in the garden and loved to play with the maalis (gardeners) who were only too happy to instruct her. We watched corn, beans, carrots, cauliflower, and many other vegetables grow and ate them with relish. Our ducks Donald, Balthazar, Daffy, and a nameless one roamed the garden along with our turkeys, hens, rooster and chicks until such time when they ended up on our dining table. Under our father’s watchful eye, our garden grew so beautiful that we won a trophy for it.
Our father wanted us to have the best possible education not just in school, but in other areas as well. Mysore was home to one of the best riding schools and we three older siblings learned to ride there. We loved our early morning rides and were apt pupils, soon learning to trot and canter. Mr. Bijli, our instructor rode a beautiful black horse named Spitfire which would try to unseat him quite frequently but was never able to. To see the power struggle between the two was simply fascinating.
Our father insisted that we always walked to school even though we had both the official as well as our own car, to teach us a lesson in humility. He had worked his way up the ladder and wanted us to do the same. Of course, we had many interesting trips together. A unique experience that our family had was to watch the ‘Kheddah’ where wild elephants were caught and domesticated, eventually. Tea at the palace was another wonderful experience, where we met the royal princesses. Brindavan Gardens was a hot favourite, as was Hotel Metropole, where we were introduced to quails and Dasaprakash ice cream.
He was also an outstanding home cook. Every Sunday, he would don the apron and experiment in the kitchen, with our Mum and us as willing assistants. He introduced us to the art of fine dining and dishes which all of us still make today – Kichdi, Beef and Beans, Bread Mince, Salmon & Pineapple Rings, Vindaloo, Christmas Cakes, Roast Beef and many more. Turkey at Christmas was his masterpiece. After the midnight service, he would stay awake making the stuffing and roasting the homegrown bird and when we woke up in the morning the house would be smelling heavenly.
But this childhood paradise was not destined to last. On that fateful day – that bygone April Fools’ Day, we went for our riding class as we had always done. Then lightning struck, swift and sure…in a few moments, he was gone forever. Taken by the silent killer, even while he was on his morning ride, we couldn’t say goodbye. Rushed to the nearest hospital, where there were no doctors and no oxygen, we don’t know what might have been. The chaos that followed was unimaginable, everything was surreal. Our grandfather, uncle, friends, and other relatives travelled to Mysore to support us in our grief. Numb with shock and disbelief, we attended the state funeral, came back, set our affairs in order, packed all our things, said our goodbyes. We left our perfect childhood behind, from now on, it would be one struggle after another, but by the grace of God, always uphill.
Today, as we look back over the years, we find that memories don’t fade in time. We tuck them away and then all of a sudden, they emerge as vivid as ever, to remind us of all our sorrowful and joyful moments.
Our dearest Dadda, we will never forget you and what you taught us, as long as we live. You will live forever in our hearts, minds, and faces. Rest in peace until we meet again.
Tribute by Anu Elisha:
Ruth, Kenny, Asha & Anu Elisha 1st April 2021
A Gallery Of Memories
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