Ervad Nadir Ardeshir Modi, legal luminary, professor of law and English at the H. R. and Jai Hind Colleges in Bombay, philanthropist, savior of the Dadar Parsi Colony; much has been known about this colossus of a man. However, to me, he was just Dad. I had the honor and privilege of being his only daughter. He was a fantastic father; in fact he was both father and mother to me.
Very few enjoyed the privilege of being in his inner coterie. He often quoted William Shakespeare’s Hamlet: "Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,/ Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;/ But do not dull thy palm with entertainment,/ Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade.” This is how he chose those he considered "his people.”
When I was very young Dad would tell me: "You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” And I do, absolutely, ever since he merged into the light on June 5.
Coming from a priestly family and being both navar and maratab, he was highly religious and deeply spiritual. He let me in on a secret — whatever I prayed for would come to pass. So I needed to be very careful what I prayed for. Citing an example of how wrong this could go, he’d tell me this story. When he was in his early 20s he appeared for the solicitor’s exam, known to be infamously tough to get through. Even the most brilliant students would have to sit for it a few times before they cleared it. Dad prayed that on his first try he would top the University! He prayed hard and worked hard. He topped the University that year. However, everyone had failed that year and he was at the top of the list of failures!
From l: Nawaz Modi Singhania, Ervad Nadir Modi and Jimi Jesia
at the Dadar Parsi Colony felicitation
In my troubled times, he’s always leapt to my defence, come to rescue me. He was my ultimate protector. His words ring in my ears from a time when some years ago I was under severe attack: "I want to be in front of you, I want to be behind you, I want to be on either side of you.”
He had an uncanny knack of always knowing what was really going on in my life even though there were certain personal things I did not share with him. He’d approach the issue delicately, unobtrusively, with great tact and wisdom, and leave me much stronger.
Over the years my soul felt so conjoined with his that I could physically feel what he was going through. If his shoulder ached, so would mine. If he was feeling nauseous, so would I.
Being sensitive to the fact that having his last rites performed at Doongerwadi might have challenges for me, to take the pressure off me he once said that after he’d crossed over, I should remember that his body was merely like an old, used envelope… one that served him very well, but irrelevant from then on, as his soul was not in it. And I should have his last rites performed wherever I found it convenient. However, knowing well that his first preference was the Tower of Silence, I insisted that all his last rites and prayers be performed there.
I was born at the Parsi Lying-In Hospital, opposite the Cathedral and John Connon Senior School in Bombay. The umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck seven times and I was presumed stillborn. I was puny and my lungs would not kick start, but Dad refused to give up and kept after the hospital staff until my lungs started working and I survived. That same day he found a cockroach in my crib and got really angry with the hospital staff. After he was bathed at the Tower of Silence the night before the funeral, I found an insect on the white sheet in which he was wrapped. I too became angry and removed the insect. How life comes round full circle, I thought!
My paternal grandfather Ardeshir was a military man who had seen action in both World War I and II. After the wars, Indians were called upon to return their weapons to the Government of India. Dad felt that my grandfather should not have to return his weapons. Sharad Pawar was the then home minister and Dad was slated to argue the case before him. Taking one look at the files and papers that comprised Dad’s brief, which I’m told piled up waist high from the floor, Pawar waved his hand and said he didn’t need to hear anything; the government did not want to take the weapons back! Dad could keep them! Dad gifted all three weapons he inherited from his father to me.
Dad was born and raised in Ahmedabad. He was under 20 years of age when he came to Bombay by train, with barely any money in his pocket, to make a life in the financial capital of the country. Occupying the upper berth on the overnight journey, he left his shoes down when he went to sleep. When the train reached Bombay he descended from his bunk and found that his shoes had been stolen. So he arrived in Bombay barefoot!
I’ve heard incredible stories about the things he’s done for others, but never from him. Dad’s best friend, and in a separate instance his father-in-law, didn’t own a home so Dad found them great buys at distress rates. But they were hesitant to invest so much. Dad told them that these were such good deals that if they didn’t buy the apartments, he would. That convinced them to buy.
A very senior counsel friend of his was having trouble with his partner, with gen next trying to change things drastically in the workplace. Dad gave him the keys to a vacant office of his to use as long he needed it. That was how large his heart was!
Dad actually got into the legal profession so that he could help others. He often spoke of his senior whom he admired and respected tremendously, a gentleman by the name of Noshirwan Petigara. Dad once asked Petigara rather naively why he was so nice. Back came the answer: "It’s nice to be nice!”
Anyone who knew Dad was aware that his legal chambers were filled floor to ceiling with law journals, that too in double layers! His collection of legal books was mentioned and praised in open court by Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of India, Justice D. Y. Chandrachud, as one of the best he had ever seen. Dad’s friends would give him their books to read and mark out portions for them to peruse.
Modi, on a visit to Iran
His head, heart, wisdom and intellect were so brilliantly interwoven that the things he said will always remain with me.
When he was diagnosed with spinal stenosis and a worn out hip joint, I took him to see a doctor. Shocked to see the reports, the doctor asked where the patient was. I said he was seated right in front of him! The doctor was stunned and said going by his reports the patient should have been screaming in agony and placed in intensive care. Dad stood up, politely said "Thank you very much,” shook the doctor’s hand and walked out of the clinic. We never spoke of the incident again and he never complained of pain related to that condition.
In 2009 he was diagnosed with Ann Arbour IV cancer and nearly lost his life because of an overdose of chemotherapy. He pulled through miraculously though the doctors had lost hope and told us to say our last goodbyes. Knowing that he could never take chemotherapy again — if the cancer didn’t kill him, the chemo certainly would — a full body PET scan was done to determine the final line of treatment. During the scan the doctor showed me on the monitor that Dad was totally cancer free. It was nothing short of a miracle. Dad got off the examination table, folded his key pouch, slipped on his shoes and headed out.
He was also a great brother and son. He took care of his younger brother Jamshed, sponsoring his studies in the US and opening his home to him and his family for several years after they returned to India. He brought his parents, Perin and Ardeshir, to Bombay from Ahmedabad to live with him and took good care of them till the end of their days.
I’ll close with the words of legendary criminal lawyer and legal strategist Amit K. Desai in his condolence message to me: "Your father was a towering person and a contemporary of my father’s generation. That generation worked on different values and ethics. What a world they grew up in. Well, wallow in the memories and celebrate his life!” I do, proudly in his name.