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Decades ago, on a Monday afternoon in February as I reached my home, a shop lot, I saw an ambulance parked in front and my father taken in a stretcher to the ambulance.
He was unconscious.
I was clueless as to what was happening.
That Monday morning, he was still in bed when I left for school. My last memory was walking back from his printing press the previous evening and stopping by a shop to get bananas.
Often, I would go to my father’s printing press Lazar and Sons to walk back with him. The shop was just about 20 shop lots away. It was my time with him – just holding his hand and walking the short distance.
He passed away that evening (Feb 2) and that date is forever etched in my memory.
Our life changed as we lost the man of the house, our protector and provider. Our family became vulnerable to financial difficulties, social injustice and exploitation.
He left behind a widow and seven children aged from two to 15.
My mother became extremely strict with the girls as we did not have the protection of a man. Principles by which he lived were instilled in us.
He had made my mother promise that the boys would be educated and the girls married. My brothers went on to pursue tertiary education in the UK.
I managed to enter the local university. On hindsight, I wonder if he would have approved of his daughters having careers instead of being married off at 18.
Simple lifestyle and hard work were some of his ways. Our house was furnished in spartan fashion. And we only got new clothes on our birthdays and at Christmas.
We, the older children, were not paid when we did the compiling of printed sheets for calendars and diaries at the yearend. My elder sister and I had to do simple household chores from young. My older brother was spared.
I remember him teaching us to share. When it was dessert time, the fruits had to be equally shared by the seven children. The one who allocated the seven portions would be the last to get their portion. I never got to bite into a whole apple. We had to share.
When we helped ourselves to food, we had to ensure that there was sufficient food left in the serving bowls for those who had not eaten.
He taught us to care for others, refrain from greed, and serve others first.
He was very conservative in his finances and taught us to just spend what was needed. His example was if you had only 10 sen to spend daily and suddenly got RM1, you still spend 10 sen. If you enjoy the RM1, the next day you will have to adjust to 10sen and you may feel the pinch.
Those principles helped us to be contented with what we had and adjust to the financial constraints after his death.
His compassion for the poor was evidenced by the Tamil school he and his friend set up. Tamil children from the squatter area received at least a primary education. Through that school many children, including my siblings and cousins, learnt Tamil.
A few years ago, my ex classmate told me how her husband studied Tamil in that school and was ever grateful to my father.
He told us that if a rich person and a poor one invited you for a function, attend that of the poor person as it will mean a lot to him. It has rubbed off on me. My former cleaning lady and gardener are still close to me.
Inevitably, I surrounded my children with books and magazines.
I remember him taking us to the Lido cinema to watch David Copperfield, and a documentary on nature and animals. My father was the only adult in the whole cinema watching the documentary with us.
Even though he left us suddenly, he did provide for our future. We are blessed that he was an investor. The downpayment for my first car and the booking fees for my house were from my inheritance.
Have we, his children, honoured his good name? Yes. My brothers are lawyers and accountants, and I became an associate professor and author of professional books on Accounting.
When I published my first book, I wanted his name to be cited and I went with the Lazar name.
But my proudest moment was not when I graduated, or had children or published my books but on the birth of my first grandchild.
I clearly remember lifting her up when she was four months old in her parents' home and saying "Look, Angyia, my granddaughter."
I am proud of my father but sad that he did not see his seven children grow up and bless his name for his legacy of having compassion on the less fortunate, faithfulness to God and living a simple life.
