THE THREE MEN I WISH WERE ALIVE TODAY

When Presence Fades, but Influence Endures

For years, my approach to blogging was like my approach to fitness… enthusiastic in bursts, inconsistent at best, and largely unnoticed.

I’d write whenever inspiration struck, toss a story into the void, and then carry on with life, assuming the internet would do the magical work of bringing readers. It didn’t.

But there were exceptions… three men who, if alive today, would have been my biggest cheerleaders. The kind of readers who would have devoured every post, debated nuances over coffee, and reminded me (repeatedly) that I should be writing more.

Of course, there are many people I wish were still here today.

But when it comes to my writing, these three stand out as the ones who would have been the most engaged, the most encouraging, and the most eager to see me grow as a storyteller.

Appa – The Scholar with a Commanding Presence

Appa, my wife’s dad, was the kind of man whose very posture demanded respect.

An illustrious career in government service followed by a stint in the corporate world had made him a walking encyclopaedia of wisdom.

He read non-fiction with the intensity of a detective solving a case, always taking notes for his lectures at the Management Development Centre and the visiting faculty roles he juggled with ease.

I’m actually writing this sitting in Appa’s chair at his office desk during my visit to Kottayam.

And let me tell you, this chair has an imposing presence of its own. I feel like I should be drafting an important corporate white paper instead of reminiscing about my erratic blogging habits.

But here I am, typing away, half-expecting to hear Appa clear his throat behind me, signalling that my time in his hallowed workspace is up.

Despite my unmarketed, erratic blogging, Appa always read my stories and appreciated them as though I were the next literary sensation.

He had the rare ability to make his praise feel both encouraging and authoritative.

And let’s be honest, when someone of his stature nods at your work, you start wondering if maybe… just maybe… you aren’t entirely talentless.

Joy Uncle – The Psychologist Who Saw Potential (Or Was Just Being Nice)

Then there was Joy Uncle, a renowned psychologist and author, whose name carried weight across Kerala and beyond, reaching Malayalis worldwide through his books, television appearances, and insightful interviews on psychology.

He was well-read, articulate, and had an uncanny ability to see through people. Which is precisely why I always suspected that his compliments about my writing were just a well-meaning psychological nudge.

“Keep writing,” he’d say. And I, being my sceptical self, would think, Is he diagnosing my delusions of grandeur or genuinely suggesting I have a future in this?

Either way, he always encouraged me, even when bedridden in his final days.

I’d like to believe that he truly enjoyed my writing… but if he was just applying some positive reinforcement, well, I’ll take it.

Daddy – The Self-Help Enthusiast Turned Naturopathy Guru

And then, of course, there was Daddy.

The man who practically had a PhD in self-help literature. His collection of books spanned every motivational guru under the sun. If a book claimed it could change your life, Daddy had read it, underlined it, and loaned it to at least five friends.

He even wrote a book himself—Keep the Doctor Away—chronicling his journey of ditching a recommended heart surgery in favour of naturopathy.

And it worked. He outlived his predicted expiration date by 20 years, walking 10 kilometres daily and eating food so healthy it made junk food cry.

But what truly set Daddy apart was his relentless determination to write that book.

He didn’t have the luxury of sleek laptops or ergonomic keyboards. No, he had a rickety old typewriter… one he had lugged all the way from Calcutta like a prized heirloom.

And with the single-minded focus of a monk, he pecked away at it, typing one key at a time with a lone finger from each hand. Tap…tap…tap… The sound of literary ambition mixed with the occasional curse when a key jammed.

That typewriter probably aged faster than he did, but it bore witness to his sheer willpower. If that isn’t commitment, I don’t know what is.

I can only imagine how excited he’d be to see me writing today.

He’d probably insist I publish an eBook, build a personal brand, and give Ted Talks about storytelling.

And I would have rolled my eyes before realizing, years later, that he was absolutely right.

If Only They Were Here Today…

If these three were alive, my storytelling blog wouldn’t just be a quiet corner of the internet. It would have an audience… engaged, insightful, and brutally honest.

They would have dissected my stories over family meals, debated their merits, and ensured I never went too long without writing.

And of course, there’s Mummy.

I know you’d be the happiest of all, but forgive me for leaving you out.

It’s not that you don’t count… it’s just that neither are you a man, nor does ‘Four People I Wish Were Alive’ have the same ring to it. And besides, you always said three was a lucky number.

So here’s to them… the three men who would have read every word, given every critique, and made me believe that writing was worth it.

And maybe, just maybe, they still do. Somewhere, somehow, cheering me on.

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