-- By Arulnambi K.

Caesar: Who is it in the press that calls on me?
      I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
      Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.

Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.

Caesar: What man is that?

Brutus: A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

Caesar: Set him before me; let me see his face.

​Cassius: Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

Caesar: What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.

Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.

Caesar: He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

​    -- William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act 1, Scene 2

​In 44 BC, on the Ides of March, a day on the Roman calendar that corresponds to March 15, Julius Caesar was betrayed and assassinated by his friend Brutus and other conspirators. Caesar chose to ignore the warnings of a seer who had foretold that harm would come to Caesar by that day.

My father always drew lessons from everything that happened in and around his life. He firmly believed that experience is the best teacher. After my mother's passing on February 9, 2015, he decided to organize a memorial meeting and invited friends, family, relatives and students to attend. His primary purpose for this meeting was to draw lessons from all the good things in my mother's life and the way she had lived it, and share it with people close to him. Before the meeting, he wrote to his students and former colleagues, "As psychologists, what can we learn and convey through this meeting?"

On March 15, 2015, just over a month after my mother's passing, it was my father's turn. His end came unbidden, unexpectedly, abruptly, and all too soon for someone who had been extremely active and busy even until the previous day, and had seemed at least outwardly healthy and strong. Like his life, with its many experiences and lessons, both lived and taught, my father's death holds lessons too.

Since childhood, I don't remember my father being ill or even mildly sick more than a handful of times. He ate healthy, and managed stress well with all the techniques he knew as a psychologist. As he grew older, he developed high cholesterol (a family trait) and high blood pressure, both well-known risk factors for heart disease. He used to take medication for them about 10 years ago, and even used to consult with a cardiologist. Over the intervening years, he stopped taking regular medication for the conditions, and only got himself checked by a doctor a few times. He had gotten busier over the last five years or so of his life, and my mother's illness also occurred during that period. Call it the implacable advance of fate, but seemingly in the blink of an eye, events occurred which culminated on the Ides of March, 2015.

That day, my father woke up with a feeling of unease. I could only gather these details from the people he had interacted with during that day. He spoke to a relative, wanting to see an acupuncturist as he felt that his blood pressure was a bit too high. Later that morning, he spoke to a student and a friend, complaining of heartburn and back pain. They were concerned, and offered to accompany him to a doctor. He brushed aside their concerns, saying he would be fine and "live to be 150 years". He even walked to a nearby pharmacy and got some Gelusil, the commonly used heartburn relief medication. More people visited, and suggested that he should go with them to see a doctor. He turned down their offers, saying that he was feeling better. Sometime between 4 and 6 PM that evening, my father passed away, alone in his home.

My father was quite aware of the beginning signs of a heart attack. I remember exchanging emails forwarded to us about such symptoms. But, like Julius Caesar on that same day thousands of years ago, he chose to ignore the warnings. And these were warnings from his own body, the best judge of such things, as well as the warnings projected in the concern shown by his friends and students that day. He had also chosen not to get conventional and proven treatment for the extremely high blood pressure readings he had been observing over the previous months.

To carry Caesar's Ides of March analogy forward once more, Caesar had been betrayed by his friend. My father was betrayed by his own thinking. Some of that thinking was due to almost lifelong opinions held by him, and some of it could be attributed to the overwhelming grief he was experiencing but not acknowledging to the extent he could have. My father liked to quote his mentor and guide, Professor T. E. Shanmugam: "Your personality is your fate." How true. Not just for him, but for all of us.

The overconfidence in matters concerning his own health, an extreme prejudice against modern (allopathic) medicine, perhaps heightened by seeing my mother suffer due to her illness and its treatment, and a strong bias toward more naturalistic, even if unproven, systems of medicine, all conspired to lead him to an end that nobody expected at that point in his life. He had felt that he had much more to contribute to society and his family, but it was not to be. Instead, what we are left with is that all too common lament: "If only he had…"

One could say that we cannot change fate, and it was my father's time. While that may be true, there are still things to learn from even the most tragic and unstoppable events. Life is worth fighting for, always, and that is something a number of older people in a country like India forget once they reach a certain point in their lives.

So, what are those lessons? Listen to your body, especially as you grow older. Prevention is better than cure. Make an effort to understand the science behind health issues and their medical treatments. Do your own research about health matters. There is a wealth of information available, but watch out for misinformation. And as my father would say, everything should be in moderation, even your biases.

​In the end, we did not get an opportunity to even say, "Goodbye, Appa." But, no matter, he did not fall ill and suffer for a prolonged period, and that in itself is a blessing denied to many. And for those of us who knew him well, his ever positive outlook was infectious, making it impossible to keep mourning the past and instead forcing us to look toward the future. So, on this first anniversary of my father's passing, his spirit of ceaseless learning and desire for changing lives for the better still roams this earth, searching for kindred spirits to carry on his work and uphold the ideals and values dear to him and his wife. Stay tuned for our plans.

Dr. N. Raj Mohan is one of the founder directors of "BODHI", a consultancy organization for corporations, educational institutions and the general public. He has done extensive research in the selection process of employees, career counseling, and has developed psychometric tools for assessment and suggestion of solutions. Dr. Raj Mohan is also an author, having published two books and various articles in English and Tamil. [Dr. Raj Mohan's full profile]

​Dr. Raj Mohan was a Ph.D. student of Dr. K. V. Kaliappan, and was closely associated with him until the very end. The following is the video (in English and Tamil) and English transcript of Dr. Raj Mohan's tribute to his teacher at the memorial meeting organized by the family, students and friends of Dr. Kaliappan on March 22, 2015 in Chennai, one week after his passing.

Although I say 'Good morning,' I don't really feel that, but one way, it's feeling good because we are here, basically, to understand us, by talking about him (Dr. Kaliappan), by thinking about him, by feeling about him. That is what I can perceive about this moment. When I was planning what to talk about today, I was thinking that all of you already knew him very well, and some of you knew him very personally, so there is not any scope or need for me to give an introduction about him. The only thing I can speak about is how I saw him as his student.

I was introduced to Dr. Kaliappan by Mrs. Suseela Mariappan, who used to work in the uninversity and is no longer with us. I went to her and asked her to suggest a Ph.D. guide (advisor) as I was interested in pursuing a doctorate. She remarked that they were many people like that. I said, "No, it can't be anyone. The person should be ethical, and someone who won't steal my work. I have heard about such things happening." She immediately said, "There is a Dr. Kaliappan in the psychology department. You don't know him. He is also involved in the N.S.S. (National Service Scheme) currently. Go and see him." I went and met Dr. Kaliappan, not once or twice, but several times. Every time, he would not commit to taking me on as a student, and would just say, "Let's see."

Then, we happened to attend a meeting together by accident, and I happened to speak at that meeting by accident. I had not intended to attend that meeting. I had just walked in impulsively. I was dressed in casuals (lungi and jippa!) and spoke for about five minutes in front of that gathering of nearly a thousand people, near the end of the meeting. Upon hearing me talk, he went in front of everyone and said that he would be truly fortunate to have me as his student. It was then that I understood something about him. After understanding a person well, he would go directly to that person's state, whatever state that was (I had not even entered the Ph.D. track at that point), and encourage and enthuse him. That was such an appealing quality to me. There was no reason for him to publicly say what he said then, in that chance encounter, but he did. He also mentioned that I had been pursuing him for nearly two and a half years.

After that, I started interacting and working with him, but always maintained a distance, as I was a bit afraid of him. Perhaps, that fear was due to his reputation of being rather strict and being cautioned by Suseela Mariappan to be careful, as I always tended to speak frankly.

So, we were maintaining that distance. There was a Professor Ranganathan in the School of Social Work, who was known to both of us. I mentioned to him after about one and half years that I had joined for Ph.D. with Professor Kaliappan. He asked, "Why do you want to do Ph.D." He asked it casually, but it struck me then, after nearly six years, that I did not know why I wanted to do a Ph.D. Maybe, I could think of reasons why I should not, but could not think of reasons why I should.

I was doing my Ph.D. as a part-time effort, and the time period allowed by the university expired. I had to pay a fine and restart the effort. Dr. Kaliappan asked me why I had delayed it so much. I said, "Sir, I had a problem." He asked, "What was the problem?" I said, "I didn’t know why I should do a Ph.D., that was my problem." He asked, "Well, have you found your answer?" I said, "Yes, sir, I have." Then, he said, "Okay, tell me… but wait, don’t say it here. There is a meeting of staff members I am going to. Come there and say it." I liked that. Those were the sort of small things that I picked up from him.

​So, I went to the staff meeting with him and said to everyone, "Even though I had the satisfaction of doing my Ph.D. under Dr. Kaliappan, I only found out why I'm doing a Ph.D. just recently. I truly think that it is not going to add any value to me." He looked surprised. I continued, "Internally, I'm not going to benefit by it, but one thing is clear. There is a thing called 'market value'. If I put the title of 'Doctor', maybe people will call me to speak. If I don't have any title, nobody would call me! That's what I see, honestly, sir!" He started clapping, and said, "You spoke correctly!" Dr. Kaliappan would tell me, "There are many people who are of no use even after getting a doctorate, and there are also many who have no doctorate but are of much use (to others). You are a mix of the (best of the) two!" A professor like this!

I met with him frequently over those two and half years. There is one thing I really liked about him. I didn't know many people that he knew, but he would tell me about them. He would say, "This is Kanchana." He told me a lot about Kanchana (one of his students). "Radhakrishnan, Senthil, Karthikeyan…" - he would speak about all of them to me, and similarly, he would tell them about me. A teacher, who, without prejudice, had the habit of telling about one's virtues and good qualities to another. That's a great thing - the reason that he, as a teacher, is entrenched in my heart.

Today, he is gone… emotional level, yes, (we are affected)…we are all psychologists, and psychologically, yes, there is a vacuum. But I suddenly feel that he has not passed away, because, look at all the students here, and Kaliappan is everywhere. When I think about it, for the question, why did I do a doctorate, there is a difference in my answer then and now. Today, when I speak to ten people, a thousand people, or a lakh people, the person I am thinking of is Dr. Kaliappan.

A few years ago, he took me to speak at a college. When I spoke about how difficult it was for me to become his student, he shed tears. He asked, "Did I put you in such difficulty?" I said that I did not see it as a difficulty and I spoke about it only to show my audience that one needs to overcome difficulties to come up in life.

I ponder my relationship with him - Friend? Father-Son? - I cannot say. In my interactions with him, he has even been my student many times. I am not saying this out of pride or arrogance. We have all experienced this. He would say, "Tell me, I will listen," and run to get his notebook and jot down points. He would call me suddenly, out of the blue. "I read your book. It was superb," he would say. "I want to recommend this right away to a couple people. Send me two copies."

Whenever there was a TV program, or anything else I was involved in, I would immediately share it with him. We are all here. Why? I think it was Karthikeyan (another student), who said to me a few days ago, "He changed our lives." He was a turning point for all of us. Do all of you agree? That’s why we are here!

He was a great innovator. Once, I was doing an employee  training program. I had selected a hundred employees. I realized only later that they would show up in shifts as they worked in shifts. I told Dr. Kaliappan that I had a practical problem - in the third shift, I only had two employees in my training program. He said, "So what? Create a model for training just two people." It didn't matter to him whether the group was two or five or ten people. I liked the way he came up with such suggestions and ideas that were unconventional. I am basically a person who is not orthodox, and we connected well and shared ideas because he was also unorthodox. Being orthodox basically means looking straight (in one direction only).  He did not look straight. He looked everywhere. That was a quality that he was always inculcating in me.

(Addressing Dr. Kaliappan's sons:) You have your father existing in all of us. This is not a political speech. Our presence when you were not here (when he passed away) was voluntary. People felt that they needed to be there. Being there would help us to become who he wanted us to be. That is what your father has created. How do we keep him alive? One is that we keep him alive in ourselves. And what did we learn from him that could, perhaps, be practiced?

After finishing my Ph.D., I told him that I felt sort of shy to call myself "Doctor". He insisted that I did, and always addressed me with that title. My wife could not be here today as she is not well. She had an opportunity to be his student as well, and asked me to share that Dr. Kaliappan would give a very patient hearing to any student who went to him and for any question that was asked.

These are the things which I feel that he left with me, and left with most of us. How do we get connected to him? By connecting to all of us. By getting connected, a common theme would emerge, and we can talk about Dr. Kaliappan. And his children too should get connected to us. And that is the way we keep him alive.

Thank you for listening patiently to me. I feel good now, as I think I was a good student to him. Whatever I learned from him will definitely be inculcated, distributed and disseminated to all of you.