Tribute to my grandfather

My dearest grandfather, or Papaji, as we called him, was a rare kind. Strong as well as and sensitive and expressive, I've not known many men like that. He was also one of my most helpful people in the world and thousands have benefited from his advice and guidance.

I loved and respected him very much, but there were no formalities with him. He provided us great support and we could go to him with any problem. My mind is too blurred right now to able to think clearly but there are several memories of his which will remain with me.

I loved getting birthday cards and gifts for him. He would always shake his head at the amount of money involved, and I would shrug it off. This was a joke in the family. My grandfather lived in the 19^th century as far as money was concerned. If I would get something, he would ask how much it was for – five or 10 rupees and Mom and I would be shaking our heads and I would burst into laughter. Years ago, he convinced many an autorickshaw driver to take him to a considerable distance for a measly thirty rupees, when any of us would have paid at least 50 rupees for it, not an inflated rate at all mind you! We would all laugh, saying the poor driver was decent and considerate of your age.

I don't remember much of my childhood with him but on growing up, I have heard tapes of him and me discussing a picture book. My dadi always used to say – 'inse bahut zyaada pyaar hai'. She knew it and didn't mind at all. It's true. I was very attached to him and would tease him when I asked if I was his favourite person in the world. He would smile and not reply, and I knew why. The number one spot was taken by his youngest brother, who he was extremely fond of. But I secured the second spot, which I was content with.

I enjoyed sitting for the Shivratri pooja with him and he did too. Anyone who knows about the pooja knows it's quite long. We would all long to go for dinner, while my dadi would always chide him, saying 'you just rush up things'. When she became very ill and couldn't walk, I would narrate to her the entire proceedings and show her photos on the phone. I don't think he cut short the pooja, though. He took the time required, and anyone who would try and disturb him would get a glare. It was not uncommon through the years, however, for a round of giggles to start, and he would hold up his arm again, asking us to be quiet. In the last few years, I helped him prepare for the pooja and he used to say I'm half trained now.

My grandfather was obsessed with hearing the news. His favourite line was – 'zaraa news lagao' and this would be after he had devoured the newspaper for hours in the morning and heard the news on the radio. I would shake my head, saying we would watch serials on TV and would drag him along too. Even then, his morning and evening news bulletins on the radio continued. It was a funny sight, holding the radio Mom had got for him from Japan, to his ear, and eating dinner with the other hand. While at this, if his phone happened to ring, it became an even funnier sight as he would want to take the call as well! His favourite question to me, when I got back home from work, would be – 'aaj ki khaas khabar kya hai'. When I was very tired, I would wriggle out of the question, saying news was the last thing I wanted to discuss. I think he did it just to tease me – because he always knew about the news. But when I had something exciting to tell him, we would have many discussions about political developments. He would also recite Urdu and Pashto poems to me, and then explain what they meant. One of my happiest moments was when he asked me to bring him Vikram Seth's 'Suitable Boy'. He was very happy with it, and after a few days told me that the writer was "very good" and that he knew his mother Justice Leila Seth. I was taken aback, and said Papaji, we have to go see her then! Alas, the book never got finished as his health had already started declining since March.

I get aches in my wrist, arm and shoulder and sometimes he would massage my wrist. In fact, even when I would ask him to stop, he would continue to hold my arm and keep pressing, and ask me if I felt better. In fact I went to the physiotherapist with him for the first time. He suffered from severe back pain intermittently and we used to attend the physio sessions together.

In the past few weeks, when he was sorting out my dadi's clothes and papers after her demise, I was surprised when one evening he handed me a set of thick packet from many years ago; the paper had turned yellowish. The packet was a set of poems I had written in school. It's something I used to do and maybe it was adolescence or the pressure of the 10^th boards which had made me philosophical. Anyhow, I had totally forgotten about them until he handed them over to me that day. One of his dreams for me was to write a book. He kept telling me – you must write short stories and I'll get them published. I don't know if I ever told him about my blog, but yes it's my dream too to get my work published. Maybe it will happen one day.

His constant words to me were "be strong", knowing I was sensitive, but he also knew I was brave and would not tolerate injustice.

I'm trying my best to be brave Papaji, but you also have to promise to look after me from up above. I know you could not have been there with me forever, but I wish you had not left so soon and so suddenly. There was so much more we had to talk about.