The first time I truly felt the loss of someone, was when
my Granddad passed away in December 2012.
It took me a long time to come to terms with it. Denial, being my
most overused defense mechanism, I refused to accept it or cry for the first
few months. It felt like if I cried or acknowledged it, it would become real.
Eventually, I came out of this childish fantasy. I still walk into his house
and expect him to be sleeping inside. I still do or watch something and think,
“Oh God! Thatha should totally hear about this!” I still refuse to talk in past
tense. But then, there is that feel. Something that tells me that somewhere,
something has changed.
The most cherished memory I have of him was from a time when I was
around 3 or 4 years old. I used to watch him train our dog Tuffy. Being a young
child, I was afraid of the overactive, jumpy, hyper dog. Thatha would then ask
me not to be so silly and give me a fistful of dog biscuits, which I would feed
Tuffy every time she fetched the ball he threw. He would make me sit on the
wall and I would watch him command the very obedient Tuffy, in complete
fascination.
I do not know why I have held on to this particular memory so
tightly, but I do know that this defines the way I looked up to him. Fully
captivated, I would hang on to every word he said. And he had a lot to say!
There was absolutely nothing my Granddad did not know about. Science, Medicine,
Astrology, Art, History, Philosophy...his thirst for knowledge was
unquenchable. He was the man who would go through a surgery and tell you
exactly what the doctors did to him despite the fact that he was given anaesthesia.
He had accumulated this knowledge through the years and held on to it as he
accumulated more. All this information, he learnt during the time Google
didn't exist (in case, you don't know the pain of that, try doing your next
project without using the internet). He read books. Many, many books.
Giant Encyclopedias. And he owned so many of those, that he
could start his own library (which he did, for a short period of time).
He had a particular love for watches and pens. He had his
own magnificent collection, which he was very proud of. I remember, the
first time I told him that I was going to start writing with a pen in school
(instead of a pencil), he gifted me my very first pen, a Hero pen. The next day
when I came home, he had dug up his entire collection of pens, and spread them
out before me. He explained the use of every pen, the different calligraphy
nibs and styles, how to clean and take care of a pen and everything I'd every
need to know about a pen. His knowledge was unlimited.
He was a man of routine. There were things he had to do everyday
at a specific time and he doesn't usually appreciate broken routine. One of the
things he used to do was smear Vibhuthi (ash) and Sandhanam (sandal) on
his forehead every morning. Some how, ever since I was a small child, I loved
watching him do that. And then, he would read the newspaper everyday and later,
do The Hindu crossword
in the evening. He was so good at it, that he wouldn't take more than half an
hour to finish the crossword. At any event or occasion, he did not like to
be late. He was a man of time and had to be at the venue five minutes before
time. He had a short temper, so if we weren't ready by the time he wanted us to
leave, he would leave without us!
When he moved on, I couldn’t help thinking about all the
experiences I would miss sharing with him. He would never see me go to college.
He would never see me grow up and become whatever I am going to become. He
would never spout a gazillion more random facts. My sister would never truly
know how awesome he was… I could continue this list forever, but the most
important thing is, I did experience many wonderful, amazing, cherished moments
with him that will last with me forever. I will never forget cooking Pasta for
him with all the cheese that he ever wanted. I will never forget our late night
games of Rummy. I will never forget the Thatha-granddaughter day of watching Da
Vinci Code together. I will never forget the bazillion movies at Race Club or
the bazillion books from Cosmo. I will never forget his naughty smile while he
stole slices of mango from my plate. I will never forget the time he wore
suspenders, shorts and a beret and cheerfully shouted, “Let’s go walking!” I
will never forget how one hour later he told me, “Achu, everyone looked at me
and I felt like such a proud old man!” I will never forget any of this.
He’s gone. I may forget that sometimes, but I’ve finally come to
terms with it. I have learnt not to cry or get emotional at every mention of
him or anything about him or anything that even vaguely reminds me of him
(trust me, I have done that just way too often). Even though it is hard, I
realized I must stop being so selfish. I feel like I should let him move on and
not cry over how he is not going to be there for me. I think he will want me to
cheerfully remember who he was and not cry over who he won’t be. I am not going
to idolize him now and remember only the positives. I will remember his short
temper. I will remember how he had the habit of swearing. I will remember him for
what he was. Because, the truth is, no matter what, there is just no denying
how awesome he is. I will remember him for exactly what he was and build a
monument in my heart.
To my Thatha...The best Granddad in the world...
Because you were my inspiration, my role model, my walking-talking encyclopedia, my true man of steel...
Because you taught me more than just discipline, morals and right from wrong...
Because the 16 years I had to know you were the best...
Because I love you....
Because you will be in my thoughts and memories forever...
Because you will live on forever in our hearts...
