A beautiful article by Karan Thappar
Dil Deka
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I first met Father Terry three months before my marriage. Nisha, a Goan Catholic, wanted a church wedding and although that was fine by me I bristled at the prospect of three formal �instructions� prior to the event. I suppose the terminology put me off. �I�m damned if my kids will be forced into Catholicism,� I would declare with misplaced passion. I can�t recall how Nisha assuaged my temper but when I met Father Terry for the first of these sessions I was irritable to say the least.
He offered sherry. I was taken aback. It was six in the evening and although I�m not averse to a tot I had not expected it from him. Our conversation flowed, like a river in torrent, sometimes loud and forceful, sometimes full and serene, occasionally like the rapids, short, sharp and staccato. We covered a range of subjects but religion or Catholicism was not amongst them. I enjoyed myself. Father filled my glass frequently and I drank without care.
The hour passed swiftly and when we rose to leave Father asked if next month on the same date would be convenient. I nodded. We were almost out of the door when his voice stopped us.
�I�ve a question and I wonder if you would answer it next time,� he began. �Why aren�t the two of you living together?�
The fact was we were. We had lied when we gave Father Terry different addresses. Both Nisha and I thought the truth best kept secret. After all, you don�t tell a Catholic priest you�re living in sin.
That was Father�s disarming way of telling us he knew, or had guessed or couldn�t care less. I�m not sure which it was. But it sealed our friendship. I was still 26 and for me he became the most enlightened man in the world.
Despite the fact Nisha was marrying a Hindu, Father agreed to a wedding with a full Catholic mass. At the time I didn�t appreciate how unusual this was. I even failed to grasp the significance of his suggestion I should choose from the Gita one of the two readings. Not knowing the book I did not. So he chose one from Khalil Gibran. I asked if this cross-cultural ecumenism was permitted by the Church. I can never forget his reply.
�It�s not where it comes from that matters,� he said. �It�s what it says that counts.�
Six years later when Nisha was dying and I struggled to do what she would want I knew I had the answer when I remembered Father Terry. After a month in coma with encephalitis the doctors had declared her brain-stem dead. I agreed they could switch off the machines at 5.00 p.m. on Sunday, the 22nd of April. As the painful last hours and minutes ticked by, it was a sombre group that gathered around her hospital bed.
I won�t say Father brought hope but when he walked in at 4.30 p.m. he brought a sense of light. The gloom lifted even if it did not dispel. He held Nisha�s hand as the machines wound down and her life ebbed away. From the day we first met, drinking his sherry whilst hiding our secret, she had admired, respected and grown to like him.
Today I realise Father Terry�s Catholicism is different to the Pope�s. But he�s the only priest I�ve ever known. Perhaps there are more like him. May be they are all the same. Yet each time religion becomes a source of conflict � and God knows that happens all too often in our country � I think of him. It helps restore the balance.
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