Dear Editor,
I am saddened to learn that Navin Chandarpal has died. We first met sometime in the early sixties when he joined Berbice High School. He quickly established himself as a well-liked and a well-rounded personality. The scholastic hierarchy of each class was generally established and new students hardly ever disturbed the upper rungs of the ladder. However, he was soon challenging the person standing on the topmost rung and by the time his class sat the GCE “O” levels in 1967, Navin had emerged as the top student of that year. I was Head Boy of Berbice High from 1965 to 1967 and had the privilege of seeing the stars line up, Grantley Walrond to succeed me, then Navin, to follow him.
After his “O” level successes, Navin continued at Berbice High to study for “A” levels when again, he was the top student. I had already left Guyana for medical school in October 1967 but followed the progress of the stars with much interest.
Navin was among those of whom I always enquired and the stories of him were always uplifting and positive, making for a pleasurable ask, every time. I knew of his intensity of beliefs and his loyalty to the Progressive Youth Organization and of the harsh price he paid for that. From afar, I could only admire his dedication.
We reconnected in 1994 as friends who shared the experience of climbing the same ladder and who knew how often our footprints overlapped and our fingers gripped the same spots. We met nearly every time I visited Guyana, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with Mrs Janet Jagan, sometimes with Indra but mostly with the “boys” from Berbice High.
Navin had a storehouse of stories that made for good gaffing; anecdotes of political meanderings that made you glad that you were not a politician; insightful, sometimes sublime analyses of ordinary happenings; and an impish sense of humour. I have often needled him about a poem he wrote titled “Buy Local”. One stanza will give you the flavour!
“You waste your money on motor
cars,
That can’t be used in border wars;
So if you have a patriotic heart,
Use instead a donkey cart.”
A few years ago I was at cricket in Guyana. Navin and I had a nice chat as usual. Later that day, I was in deep conversation with the then First Lady and saw Navin furiously beckoning me. He hurried closer, apologized for his interruption and announced that it was an emergency. I surmised that a VIP had a medical problem, probably a heart attack. He ran ahead, with me following comically, mentally rehearsing the cardiac protocol I guessed that would be required. But instead of running towards the private boxes, he was heading downstairs.
We ran to where a small crowd had gathered. A man who had been standing on the fence had fallen on some people below him and injured a child. Other responders were already there and in quick triage, we established that the child was stable and was able to be transferred to hospital. I thought that Navin knew the child but when I asked him, he told me that he did not.
He had heard a commotion, went to see what caused it, saw the injured child, remembered he had seen me upstairs and rushed to get me. Privately, I thought that he had over-reacted, the way many parents do when it is their child who is injured.
We once talked about the value of political service and sacrifice. I have no doubt that had Navin left Guyana, he would have achieved the same level of comfort and accomplishment as his peers from Berbice High. Or even better! He chose to stay in Guyana. And I applaud him for making that sacrifice. Political service is noble and more importantly, that nobility is measurable! How do you measure nobility?
My answer is how close the power-wielder treats the public compared to how he wanted to be treated when he was not in power.
I last saw Navin about a year ago in the VIP lounge at the airport. He was on his way to New York for treatment for his cancer. Indra had brought him lunch which they both offered to share with me. I declined, perfunctorily. Now, I wish I was wiser and had broken roti with him one last time.
Navin knew the stats. He was a statistician. I knew them too, from the medical angle. But I am not surprised that Navin outperformed the stats by a factor of seven-fold! He was a noble soul.
Nobility, I argue is measurable by how the powerful or the privileged treat those who are not. I know that it fails all statistical parameters, but please allow me to use my yardstick for my special friends, to use a sample of just one. The way Navin reacted to that injured child whom he didn’t even know, as if it were his own child, meets the criteria for nobility.
From the celestial aerodrome, from whence noble souls take flight, Navin’s soul, rebooted, revalidated and recharged will emerge among us. And we might guess that it is him when an unknown child gives us a smile of joy on a day we don’t feel particularly joyful, such as today.
To his wife, Indra, and his children, the sun will always shine again. And as you say a temporary goodbye to Navin, remember that “goodbye” is just a contraction of the old English parting wish – God be with ye.
Yours faithfully,
Dr. Tulsi Dyal Singh
Midland, Texas, USA
