Why we planted a tree for my father: Manpreet Badal
Planting a sheesham (tahli in Punjabi) tree in our ancestral farm today in memory of my father, a flood of memories flashed past.
Planting a sheesham (tahli in Punjabi) tree in our ancestral farm today in memory of my father, a flood of memories flashed past. Realization also dawned that Gurdas Singh Badal, fondly known as DasJi, is no more, and that the roof above my head no longer exists.
For many in the power corridors of Chandigarh and Delhi, DasJi was a name that rang a bell. He was Manpreet’s father, and Parkash Singh Badal’s younger brother. But move into the heartland and you would comprehend his true impact.
The Akali Dal benefitted from his sagacity during many a turmoil that the party faced. So did his elder brother, the former Chief Minister Prakash Singh Badal. For the elder Badal, DasJi would be his eyes and ears — particularly in the erstwhile Firozpur Division, where he was once an uncrowned skipper. I can fairly claim that as a son (and as a friend), I have undoubtedly been the most prolific recipient of his counsel and advice.
A generation of political leadership in the Malwa belt of Punjab owes their career to him. He had a knack of spotting talent, and a farmer could truly separate wheat from chaff. He was the best listener that I have ever seen, and this helped him with developing an uncanny knack of sensing and sussing out and anticipating events even when they were still in their embryonic stage.
Perhaps no Punjab politician could match him for his witticisms; and his wisecracks aptly conveyed the gravity of the issue in a manner, which at the same time having everybody in splits. He could couch it in the local language and idiom making it easier for everyone to appreciate and understand.
His continuous interactions with one and all made him a perfect sounding board. His health wasn’t perfect, and this affected his mobility in his later years. He preferred staying in his village most of the time, and in recent times his visits to Chandigarh were rather restricted.
At home in village Badal, access was easy and straightforward as he would love to meet with everyone — whether young or old. With him, conversations were never one-sided, but always interactive. He used to sit on his chair and encourage people to come up to him and talk, and once anyone had talked at length, DasJi would come up with a pithy one-liner that summed up the situation. The visitor would inevitably return a lot wiser.
It was this ability to discern change, analyze events, and foresee the future that made him such a remarkable person. Friends and foes alike would treat him with respectful admiration. Associates enjoyed his friendship, while foes demurred. Detractors would be guarded and wary, but always considerate. He wielded considerable power for a considerable part of his life, but never sought a “post” or “position.” That, he left to his elder brother.
He was truly a representative of the Silent Generation, and unfortunately subsequent generations have had fewer opportunities to gain from his experience.
Patience was his hallmark, earthly wisdom was his characteristic trait, and politics was his life.
The sheesham (tahli) that we planted in among the hardiest of trees. It is indigenous and grows unconstrained and unfettered, while providing us with numerous unfathomable benefits.
That was what DasJi epitomized.