A Father’s Daughter

By Swastika Juggernath

A Father’s Daughter is both a journey through grief and the healing of the soul. By adopting an intimate and familiar style of writing, the author uncovers the painful reality behind the loss of a loved one. Nothing could have prepared her for the sudden loss of her father due to the Covid-19 pandemic. By sharing her experience as well as her childhood memories, the author takes the reader by the hand and shows how grief is often followed by regret and anger, especially when facing the loss of someone we consider special and irreplaceable. Nevertheless, recovering is possible although equally painful. It requires a high price to pay and afterwards, as the author suggests, it usually drives you to ask yourself more questions in the attempt to prepare the ones who will, in the future, find themselves in the same situation.

Swastika Juggernath, a sneaker portfolio manager by day at Bata South Africa, possess a PHD in Bus Sc. and is also a mum of two kids with a peculiar sense of humour to stay sane. Named after the originating, ancient, well-wishing Hindu Sanskrit symbol, Swastika can herself be found reading and researching when she is not passionately writing. Swastika’s passion for writing stemmed at an early stage when she enjoyed writing essays and continued even after she escalated her writing through academic levels until her long-life dream of PHD, achieved in 2020. She doesn’t consider herself a famous writer but only an average mum and daughter who has experienced grief and now has decided to share it with the world.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Europa Edizioni
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9791220136976

Book preview

Prologue

I couldn’t heal since my father’s passing. I simply didn’t know how to…. the parting and reality of it all felt just too sore, too raw, too profound an impact, and too new as an emotional experience for me.

My mind understood and accepted reality, but something inside me felt restrained, brewing like an eager to erupt volcano. I just wanted to unleash the pain, release the hurt inside, and scream it out from the toxicity stirring within me. The pain oozed like a disease that I wanted to get rid of because I did not know it, I did not like it, and I did not enjoy how it consumed me. The pain from grief was like an urging physical force inside me that wanted to explode, and howl until I could unleash the acidic tears burning up within me! My heart yearned to feel some form of relief.

I always knew the day would come when my dad would pass on and I prepared myself to deal with it, when that day arrived. At that time, I thought I prepared myself well enough as I rehearsed this, with myself. Yes, I did plan for my father’s death- I plan for everything- being the control freak nerd I am! This time I was caught off guard, my emotional guard (the most sensitive and protective guard). I, the control freak that tried to know a little about a lot (or would learn quickly enough from Google) really knew nothing despite all the mental preparation for when the moment truly arrived. The plans changed without warning, and I didn’t have plan B. Who could have known and planned for Covid-19?

I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t plan for my feelings. I planned for my thoughts and my actions, and I never thought about planning for my feelings. The term Emotional Agility did not exist in my vocabulary of understanding- not until writing this book. I just focused on how to react and be strong to the world at that moment of my father’s premature passing. I logically understood that grieving was needed, necessary and healthy but I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know where to start or what to do with myself. For the first time in my life, I didn’t really have a plan to execute.

When a person passes on, many lives are affected, although not always discussed or unpacked. As adults, we sometimes struggle to deal with it ourselves and try our best as we know/were taught to help ourselves and kids in the resultant process. Sometimes we are so wrapped in the volumes of loss around us (especially since Covid-19) that we need a little more help, a slightly different plan and way of doing things. This adult need for help can easily consume us to the point that we could even forget to check in with our children on their emotional journeys through all of this.

If I can play a small part in helping those affected, then my life’s purpose is now complete. Helping others- is the key reason why this book is so important to me. Helping people structure their own thoughts and emotions when any form of grief or loss occurs- helping someone when they feel alone in the process.

I also wanted to write to help adults and parents when there are enquiring questions about death from children, and at the same time help parents to start conversing about these emotionally challenging and uncomfortable conversations and life lessons. This writing experience made me realize that as adults we consciously need to do more as we are raising young kids. We are a generation of adults that are already changing ideals and various other matters that don’t serve us any longer. Similarly, the stigma of dealing with death, grieving, mourning, and emotional experiences needs to be addressed by us too so that our kids can grow and elevate their understanding.

The book shares strategies and guidelines that will help adults consciously think about children and generations to come after us - so we must tread wisely in our words, thoughts, actions, and deeds. If Covid-19 has taught us one thing- I would sum it up as «reflection». Reflection of self in particular. There is no perfect time to self-reflect and I did, and this is my journey through it all. This book takes you on a journey as from my perspective of life as, my father’s daughter.

Chapter 1

My father’s character

I realized that I was born twice: first, as a baby girl into the home of my parents; and then again as a woman who lost her first love, her father… lost to the malicious Covid-19 pandemic in January 2021.

After many months of inner reflection, I could now describe my first birth as a physical one. Born into my parent’s home as a baby girl after 17 years of marriage. As a result of this gap in time, my parents were by comparison, always older than other kids’ parents; therefore people sometimes thought my parents were my grandparents!

I grew up as a shy child, in primary school the typical nerd with straight A’s, and then in my teenage years a complete rebel! Later I matured and soon got married with kids of my own. With time many new challenges, many new habits, and changes to lifestyle occurred. This physical birth was consistently adorned with the showering of love mostly from my father, which remains irreplaceable today especially after he passed.

My father’s childhood into adulthood

My dad grew up with his three brothers in a small tinroofed home in Mayville, Durban; and as the eldest son, he assumed a paternal role quiet early in his life, sharing adult responsibilities on behalf of his three brothers while still trying to educate himself through high school. Back then, he lived through the apartheid era in South Africa, where Indians were oppressed and given little to no socio-economic opportunities. Despite these challenges, education was always instilled in my dad by his father- therefore my father easily understood its importance. As a young boy, my dad would sell the early morning newspapers around the streets of Durban Central each morning before going to school, just to make a few cents for food at home. Together with my grandfather, my dad ensured that all brothers at least completed their grade twelve secondary schooling (this was a huge achievement for Indians back then in the 50s). In addition to my dad’s own immediate family, he also voluntarily assumed a fatherly role with his younger cousins. He provided for and helped to support their household as well- at his young age (early twenties). My dad felt dutiful to his aunt, considering that this household lost their only income earner- leaving young kids behind without a father figure. My father also helped to educate these younger cousins in school while imparting ways of wisdom to them from what he knew best.

After looking through my dad’s drawers for some paperwork, I stumbled upon my dad’s old report cards. I had not realized until, my father’s death, that he was quiet a nerd. I even found his primary school reports, where his teachers would say that he is really smart but rate him poorly in communication and speaking as he was too soft-spoken in class.

My dad also worked in a bar after school each afternoon during his high school career. He was allocated a drinking allowance, but he never drank or smoke all his life, and made a point of telling many people about this (with the hope of inspiring them). He was certainly not boastful because he didn’t have a bone of self-ego in him.

As a child, I would roll my eyes back every time my dad told this story because I was arrogant and thought he was embarrassing himself and me each time he narrated it around me. I could not make the same non-smoking or non-drinking claim as my dad, because I was not so pure and certainly not so pious as my dad. I tried to experiment with life during my teenage years, and all those years I never understood how my dad could be so good. Guess he was strongly will powered from a young age because of the lessons taught by poverty and responsibilities instilled within him, he never got the luxury of time or money to allow himself to be a child or rebelling teen for that matter. 

I didn’t realize until much later, in my adult years, how he was trying to tell people that we should control these vices and expenses associated with drinking and smoking as it will drain us of our disposable income if not carefully managed. He always led to the discussion of willpower and its effect on controlling oneself- but most people did not get this, as it is not something easy to understand when you already have an addiction, and some people just don’t want to willingly give up these habits. 

While doubling up as a bartender, my dad simultaneously studied at Tertiary Level and graduated as a qualified chef. Later he secured himself a successful job at a reputable Durban hotel. These culinary skills remain legendary, and our family has resultantly labelled him as the original trifle maker which we all licked bowls of when I was younger. As I reminisced through the process of my writing, I remember how trifle was such a treat back then because we could only afford to eat it once a year (naturally when there were visitors coming over for Christmas!) In addition, my dad also possessed a secret recipe for his glorious golden potatoes with a seasoned crispy outer coating, golden in colour and soft succulent melts on the insides.

As my father grew up, he remained close to an uncle of his for many years. My father was a mentee that absorbed as much as he could from this worldly and knowledgeable uncle. This uncle of his was rather educated about many things heading up his own private tertiary college. This uncle housed vast knowledge including religion and God. He imparted a lot of this knowledge and wisdom to my dad which further encouraged my dad’s healthy obsession with selfdevelopment. My dad would always tell me how «the company you keep says a lot about you, so choose that company wisely, surround yourself with the advantage of people that will build you and teach you». I used to interrogate that and in response, I would explain that those who know more than you are not willing to share insights with you, and those that have less than you are preferably more humble and accepting of you. His response was that «When you are confident and knowledgeable to engage with the right people, they will be drawn to you no matter what». I left it there, and only later in my mature state of understanding did those words make more sense. His point was not about humility and rather about growth and development.

My father was married to my mum at an early age, somewhere in his early twenties (an arranged marriage) and she is mostly the opposite of him, however, there are some similarities too. She was the louder one, the one who fought for injustices, and would not let things slip by easily if she was wronged, whereas my father was quiet and timid, so passive, letting most things slip by- not allowing him to be majorly affected by the negativities of life. My nieces that grew up in my parents’ home always teased my dad, that he had no choice in an arranged marriage – otherwise, he would have chosen differently. Aside from the differences between my parents’ personalities, the similarities that could be drawn are: a life that stemmed from poverty, sharp minds, desperation for better lives, a grave prioritization for education and savings, and most importantly hard work.

These were lessons, values, skills, and realities both parents passed down to me and for which I am forever indebted when I realize how much I need to instil them  in the future generation (my own kids).

My mum would tell me stories about how her life got even worse when she got married (unaware that a level worse than her maiden life could ever exist). She was trained to cook for her father-in-law, husband, and brothersin-law respectively. The ladies in her marital home would eat last- only what remained, scrapping of pots to feed their deprived bellies. Some days there was nothing and she had water for supper and never told my dad about it until much later in life. She needed to be selfish to survive and break the poverty cycle therefore they moved out of my dad’s parental home.

Now for my granddad (My «Aja», father’s father) another foundation behind my dad. Where do I start? I loved my granddad so much as a child. Despite his own struggle to survive on a «day-to-day» disposable income of weekly menial wages, my grandfather ensured that his children grew up with a better life, better income, and better opportunities that he could have for himself. As such this became a generational legacy. My dad as well naturally learned from this and ensured that he provided more opportunities to his own children than what he had. My dad offered the same to us, better opportunities for school and a greater chance of socio-economic gains in life. My dad instilled the same thirst for self-development and knowledge within us.

I got little time with my granddad as I grew up and his death was the first traumatic experience of pain and grief from losing a loved one. As a little girl, I used to wait at home for granddad anticipating his arrival, when he called my mum to inform her that he was coming over for the weekend. He worked in a small factory as a labourer below minimum wage, however, he would bring me the best treats I can remember from my early childhood. The treats were consistent every time because he knew how much I loved them. The same little outer blue packet, consisted of an 80g Cadburys whole nut slab, a box of Bakers choc kits biscuits, and a liter of cream soda cool drink in a glass bottle. It was like Christmas every time he came home. I would eat a small piece of chocolate and hide it away in the freezer way at the back of the frozen stuff, between packets, just to camouflage its existence, and just long enough to make it last until Grandpas next visit. I recall how my mum would scold me to share the biscuits and I would give in, but the chocolate was never negotiable. My grandfather eventually started hiding my chocolate and giving it to me secretly, so I didn’t have to share. 

He was generously loving with all his grandchildren he visited, although I still secretly believed that I may have been his favourite. (I guess it’s not so much of a secret anymore if I’m writing about it in a book that’s publicly available to the world.)

My granddad loved reading my school reports and his words were always repeated each time, «study hard and educate yourself, you will get somewhere in the future as this is the one thing no one can take away from you, your knowledge». In Primary school when I won the most prestigious academic award, my name was printed on the shield, and granddad cried when he read out his name. We took so many Kodak pictures that day. What can I say without being cheesy? It was a moment of a lifetime! Today I understand how wise he truly was. As a mere factory worker, with no formal education himself- my grand-dad still understood the significance and value of education and instilled that culture from a young age within his children and grandchildren. 

While reflecting upon the importance of education I also paused to remember how my mum envied that her parents restricted her academic growth along with her sisters. My mom’s parents only allowed her three brothers to attend secondary school (as it was a norm for sons only at that point in time). My mum and her two sisters were only prioritized to attend schooling as far as the seventh grade. Sons were always prioritized for education so that they could earn and bring back money to the family. Girls were seen as a burden; destined to be married as soon as they came of age, God forbid any embarrassing pregnancies. Girls needed to leave the parental home as soon as possible because they did not yield a return on their parents’ investment, they were a liability. These old-fashioned parents also dreaded the thought of paying a dowry in exchange for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Luckily times are changing! Gender equality and education in general are becoming a priority for everyone.

I also learned that my dad attended various academic and training courses having completed multiple certificates with Makro over the 40-plus years tenure that he spent with the company. He had such a wide array of knowledge about Stock Management, Occupational Health, and Safety, Fire-Fighting etc., that I never knew about, because he never spoke about it. 

I know that I was too young when he was going through it, and when he got older he was just too humble to talk about himself. Instead, he always focused on me. 

My dad was such a loyal and exemplary employee, to the extreme extent that he barely took any annual or sick leave. Even on the cold rainy days -  he would pitch up for work although I can’t say the same for myself, I definitely have those thoughts to skip work sometimes. He would not want to take leave, as he was always worried about his workload and was just too loyal to his company. He must have surely experienced a few burnouts as that would not have been healthy for him but he was insanely loyal like that. There was also another reason he didn’t take annual or sick leave, and that was for a crafty financial reason. In the past, all leave was accumulated and paid out by HR and he wanted to save his leave or rest days in exchange for cash to help build our home. I still remember how my parents would both work so hard to save money and build up our home room by room, brick by brick.

My dad as a husband

My father could not display affection at all, let alone husbandly affection for my mum. He could not display affection or emotions period. He also did not communicate well, so my mum and he often squabbled a lot and had to meet at some halfway point on most matters. My mum worked on his communication skills- as she would always teach him to speak up, speak louder, and communicate better. She tells us that she saw an improvement in him since she first met him (I never saw a difference and perhaps she had already succeeded in changing him as much as she could by that point!). He never bought her flowers or held her hand, and I think it was also a time they grew up in, where these gestures of affection were limited from the public eye or seen as disrespectful back then. My father was so saintly, I sometimes wondered how they managed to do the deed (to have kids) but I think all children cannot imagine this… we start to see our parents in a different light altogether!

Whilst my father could not be a hopeless romantic (although I think my mother may have wished for that at some point in her life) he managed to make up as a devoted husband in his loyalty to her. His commitment to provide and protect her, as shows even after his death. In the past (annually around Christmas time) my dad allowed us to come with him to work (Makro). At the end of the year, when he had saved enough money, he would buy whatever he needed for the home. Each year it would be one big ticket item for our home, ranging from a TV, microwave, fridge, washing machine, food processor, hifi system, deep freezer, or sewing machine that would help mum around the house with her housekeeping chores. He would buy this strict cash to help improve the home and help my mother ease the physical strains endured in keeping the household together. Back then she didn’t have help with the housework as they simply couldn’t afford it. My parents were not from a generation that paid for help. 

Daily, especially in their old age, my parents ate together, watched TV together, and spent a lot more time in each other’s company. While mum took more care of dad, he tried in his frail condition to take care of her also. There were many times when she could not pull through the night with her own pain. Mum struggled with her chronic Arthritis and as she aged with time her condition deteriorated too, her fingers wouldn’t curl into a clasp properly, and  she couldn’t make a fist, or use her hands and legs freely. She would struggle with her own pains while still trying to take care of dad. He would try to massage her, press on her back, and rub her with oils or herbal ointments to provide some relief. She would tell us about this the morning after- and I could hear the appreciation in her voice.

So, when I look back at how my dad lacked in some areas as a husband, he certainly made up for his husbandly «flaws» in other ways beyond a doubt.

My dad as an uncle

My dad was an amazing uncle, and as a young child, I was sometimes jealous of the relationships he had with his nieces (my older cousins). My parents were barren for 12 years of their marriage until my brother. Nieces together with nephews helped fill my parents’ void, their longing for children. My dad used to hand-paint the names of all my cousins on the floor of his staircase. This masterpiece offinger-drawn art still remains to date, together with cousins 5-year-old palms and footprints from oil paint now embedded into their floor staircase as memories. Today, my cousins have kids and grandchildren, as they reminisce and share their own beautiful childhood memories of their fingerprints and handprints that remain testimony on my parents’ staircase from time spent with them.

I also learned how one of my cousins was planned to be adopted by my parents as her dad did not want her (he didn’t want any more daughters) and this cousin lived from infancy with my parents for a few months until her dad eventually accepted her. Back then and still until today, some parents could never appreciate the value daughters possess. They generally want a son, an heir, where their name and legacy will continue into another generation and my dad loved this niece of his like his own daughter even after she returned home to her obnoxious father.

From another memory I still recall my father starting a savings plan for a different cousin. These savings were funded by her biological dad because her dad didn’t have much financial or banking knowledge in comparison to my dad. My father invested it for her and some years later he gave her that money at a time in her life when it was truly needed the most. She was able to buy her first car and get her license when her father was no longer around. I was so proud to recall how my dad facilitated that and enabled her freedom, her self-empowerment. He was always so happy and proud to see his nieces succeeding. 

My dad was not a feminist, but he did have a soft spot for girls, especially all his nieces and this was seen in the manner that he treated them all, like his daughters. Even when his nieces got married with kids he would take them sweets, chocolates, and a little note with a pet name in a packet, hidden away from my mum and me, as he would sneak it through to them. He was so passionate about driving female empowerment, despite some of my uncles being against the notion of educating their daughters at a tertiary level. Some uncles were against the idea of daughters driving vehicles or even working but my father managed to change that mentality across the entire family. For those parents that refused to, well he would simply sacrifice to ensure