Footprints in Stone

  -- By Arulnambi K.

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There is a legend from the time and place of my ancestors. It goes that, long ago, on a stormy night, when thunder and lightning reigned, a big bolt of lightning struck an area of barren rock jutting out of the earth in the middle of a field, cleaving it and leaving a large crack. Next morning, villagers found not just the crack, but also, miraculously, a set of footprints set in the hard stone. It seemed to them that something otherworldly and divine had occurred during that storm. God himself had descended in that lightning bolt, and imprinted His footprints in the solid rock. He had marked His presence, in those footprints, to last for ages.

Earlier this month, on March 5, 2017, nearly two years after my father's passing, my brother and I met with some of his former students - Dr. Latha Pillai, Mr. Senthil Athiban and Dr. Thomas Ninan - reconnecting, reminiscing, and remembering. Most of all, we talked about what we could do to ensure the continuance of Dr. Kaliappan's legacy - his love for his fellow human beings and his helping spirit. His professional legacy itself was built on this helping spirit, and we who knew him closely feel an urgency and an obligation to continue in his footsteps, etched as they are in our perpetual and collective consciousness. During our discussion, Dr. Latha Pillai had a good point: People forget, eventually. It is human nature. So, our task would be to build something that serves as a remembrance which endures beyond the frailties of our human memories. We noted that more meetings would be needed to further shape our vision and to put that vision into action.

Beyond such discussions, the meeting that evening was a particular treat for me and my brother. We were among family in every sense of the word except being related by blood. The three people who could make it that day were some of my late father's closest confidants, most trusted lieutenants, and the family who stood by him during the best and worst of times. We saw them often at our doorstep during our childhood and beyond. I vividly recall the warmth and regard both my parents had for them. Seeing them, talking to them, and recalling my father through them, it seemed like I was in his presence again. This was his most enduring gift to us: the connection we felt, lasting beyond even his own mortal life, like footprints in stone.