After a painful few months of suffering with dementia and
multiple heart + kidney issues, my grandfather passed away quietly on Thursday
morning.
I never called him “ajoba”. For me, he was always “Mothe
Daddy”.
He was always my dad. When I think of the word “dad”, his is
the picture that comes to mind.
I’ve been told that the day I was born, he took me in hands
and said “he’s my son”.
For 36 years, he treated me like one.
A lot of my values in life come from him. He’d told me never
to play marbles, cards and fly kites because these were the origins of
gambling. To this day, I don’t do either of the 3.
He told me to never smoke, drink or womanize. I’ve managed
to stay away from the 1st and the 3rd.
He pampered me in my childhood years. Buying me new cycles
every year, getting me the full He-Man set or indulging me in my illogical
dream of starting a library, he made sure my childhood years were full of
abundance.
This mattered because in reality, we weren’t financially
well off during those times. He ensured that the financial troubles at home did
not have a bearing on the way I was brought up.
He was my best friend during those times. I remember vividly
that in a local cricket 2-on-2 tournament, he came and played as my partner
when I couldn’t find one.
His support was unconditional. I remember the time when I
made the decision to return from the US immediately after my MBA. He spoke to
me over the phone, heard my reasons and said “Don’t worry. Come back. I’m there
to support you”
And his support came unconditionally not just for me, but
for my friends too. A lot of my friends will have warm memories of him – of him
bailing us out of trouble, of him funding our Goa trips or small bike trips to
Colaba.
He looked out for me all his life. Right upto 2 months when
his condition significantly deteriorated, everytime he spoke to me, he would
always ask “Tula kaahi pahije ka” (do you need anything?)
To him, I was his son and he was the pillar of strength in
my life. Proof of this was the fact that even in his worst condition, he would
always act and sound perfectly normal when he was talking to me.
I am my grandfather’s son.
On Thursday, I lost my dad. May he rest in peace.
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