Strong Roots

Dr. Kalam begins his autobiographical reflection by recalling his birth into a middle-class Tamil Muslim family in the island town of Rameswaram in the erstwhile Madras State. His father, Jainulabdeen, possessed neither much formal schooling nor substantial material wealth. Yet, despite these worldly disadvantages, he possessed great innate wisdom and a true generosity of spirit that profoundly shaped Kalam's moral universe.

His mother, Ashiamma, was his father's ideal helpmate ('an ideal helpmate'). While Kalam could not recall the exact number of people she fed every day, he was certain that far more outsiders ate with their family than all the members of their own household put together. One of his mother's forebears had even been bestowed the title of 'Bahadur' by the British, signifying historical distinction, yet the family lived with unpretentious grace.

Kalam describes himself as a short boy with rather undistinguished looks, born to tall and handsome parents. The family lived in their ancestral house, which was built in the middle of the 19th century. It was a fairly large, sturdy pucca house made of limestone and brick, located on the historic Mosque Street of Rameswaram.

His austere father systematically avoided all inessential comforts and luxuries. However, all genuine necessities were generously provided for in terms of food, medicine, and clothing. Kalam retrospectively characterizes his upbringing as "a very secure childhood, both materially and emotionally."

Kalam recalls that he normally ate with his mother, sitting on the simple floor of the kitchen. This traditional Indian custom symbolized equality, humility, and intimate maternal bonding. There were no elaborate dining tables or formal decorum; nutrition was celebrated as a sacred, unhurried family communion.

Ashiamma would spread a fresh, clean banana leaf before young Kalam. Onto this organic platter, she would ladle:

• Steaming, freshly cooked rice;
• Aromatic, rich South Indian sambar prepared with native spices;
• A variety of sharp, tangy home-made pickles;
• And a generous dollop of fresh, freshly grated coconut chutney.

This detailed sensory recollection underscores how deeply rooted Kalam remained in his native Tamil culture. Even after dining with world leaders and heads of state in later years, the memory of his mother's wholesome kitchen meal remained unmatched in sensory warmth and spiritual contentment.

The famous Shiva Temple, which made Rameswaram sacred to pilgrims across the Indian subcontinent, was located barely a ten-minute walk from Kalam's ancestral house. Although Kalam's immediate neighborhood was predominantly Muslim, a substantial number of Hindu families lived side by side in perfect amity and mutual goodwill with their Muslim neighbors.

Every evening, Jainulabdeen would take young Kalam to a very old mosque in their locality for evening prayers. Kalam did not have the faintest comprehension of the Arabic verses being chanted, but he was completely convinced that these prayers reached the Almighty. When his father emerged from the mosque after prayer, people of diverse faiths would be waiting outside with bowls of water.

This extraordinary scene highlights the transcending power of human faith. Non-Muslim villagers sought blessings from a devout Muslim elder, who humbly directed all gratitude away from himself and toward the singular divine creator.

One of the most vivid and treasured memories of Kalam's childhood was the sight of Pakshi Lakshmana Sastry, the high priest of the Rameswaram temple, engaging in intimate dialogue with his father. Each clad in his respective traditional religious vestments, the Hindu priest and the Muslim patriarch sat together discussing profound spiritual matters. This image stood as a radiant beacon of India's composite culture.

As Kalam grew older and began asking probing questions about existence, he questioned his father about the fundamental relevance of prayer. Jainulabdeen's response was not dogmatic or ritualistic; rather, it was deeply metaphysical and universalist in scope.

Jainulabdeen told Kalam that there was nothing mysterious or esoteric about prayer. Instead, prayer served as a transformative vehicle for communion between humans and the spirit world:

This striking concept of prayer as transcendence taught Kalam that human physical bodies are limited containers bound by socio-economic markers (wealth, caste, age), but consciousness during sincere prayer merges into an undivided cosmic totality.

Jainulabdeen possessed a remarkable linguistic and pedagogical gift: he could convey complex spiritual concepts in very simple, down-to-earth Tamil. He demystified religion, steering young Kalam away from superstition and toward rational spiritual contemplation.

One of the most widely quoted and profound philosophical tenets in Strong Roots is Jainulabdeen's teaching regarding human suffering:

Rather than lamenting hardship as unjust punishment or blind misfortune, Jainulabdeen urged Kalam to examine what trial reveals about one's internal character. Hardship strips away superficial illusions, forcing the individual to evaluate their true priorities, weaknesses, and latent strengths.

When Kalam inquired why his father did not impart this profound philosophical truth to the distress-laden people who queued at their door for blessings, Jainulabdeen articulated a subtle psychological paradox:

• Every human being is a specific, purposeful element within the vast manifest divine Being.
• When people find themselves in acute distress, their immediate instinct is to look for a prop—someone to show them the way out or appease demonic forces.
• Jainulabdeen viewed his role merely as a go-between (a helper) in their effort to propitiate demonic forces with prayers and offerings.
• However, he explicitly noted that this was not a correct approach at all; it was merely a symptom of fear-ridden vision. True spiritual maturity requires one to confront one's difficulties and search for the enemy of fulfillment within oneself.

The moral weight of Jainulabdeen's teachings derived not from abstract sermonizing, but from his unwavering personal discipline. He commenced his daily routine at 4 a.m. by reading the namaz before dawn. Following prayers, he would walk four miles to a small coconut grove owned by the family.

He would return carrying about a dozen coconuts tied together slung over his shoulder, and only then would he partake of his morning breakfast. Remarkably, he preserved this rigorous physical and spiritual discipline well into his late sixties, proving that longevity and vitality spring from harmonious habits.

Throughout his storied career as a rocket scientist, head of the SLV-3 project, and architect of India's guided missile program (DRDO and ISRO), Kalam consciously strove to emulate his father:

Kalam concludes the chapter with a stirring philosophical declaration: whenever an individual severs his emotional and physical bonds—his narrow ego, greed, and toxic dependencies—he steps firmly onto the highway leading to genuine freedom, boundless happiness, and lasting peace of mind.