Lately I have a disturbing feeling that I am being hounded by the demons of my unacknowledged facts or rather a single fact in my life. I have never mourned my grandfather or rather I am still mourning for him, I have no clue. All I know is, I have not shed a single tear nor have I lost any sleep over the natural demise of one and only true scaffold of my life.
Dearest Grandpa,
I love you, a lot. It might not have come out, especially in the flag end of your life, where your grandchildren were your only beacon of light. I have not filled in the role of being a grand daughter, thanks to my own guilt of being a constant disturbance. I cannot feel your void, though there is a choke in my voice and thought, when I think of you, for you are physically no more and you cannot materialize in front of me, particularly when I read a good book or achieved something in my life, however trivial it may be, to appreciate, acknowledge and later proudly share the information to friends and relatives.
I remember the small steps I took alongside you as a kid on your morning walks, waving happily to all your morning-walk friends. I remember the stories you told me every single day after your dinner and mine. I remember the small rides your chauffeur gave me when you came back from your office. I remember the numerous questions I asked on your stories and the enthusiasm with which you went about reciting another relic from our culture. I remember you talking about a story and asking me the moral and speaking of the values that the story spoke about. I did not realize then, but now, I am humbled by those times I spent with you, where you built in me the very core values I stand on today. I remember asking you to recite me the story about Lord Shiva, repeatedly and how you read to me every morning, in your sing-song voice and then explained the meaning to me. I remember sharing your food from your plate, watching the evening news and waiting for it to be over so that I can hear another interesting story. I remember the legend you were, rising from the lowest level to the highest, through sheer determination and the farewell you received from your colleagues, who respected you, looked up to you and the kind words, your superior and your mentor spoke about you. I remember you speaking about the importance a teacher holds in your life and preaching that a teacher is God and next only to mother. I remember the discussions I had with you on the other works of fiction and how we went on for hours from one topic to other without the knowledge of time.
But where was I grandpa, when you needed someone to make you happy? I am the only one who took after your voracious appetite for books and I am sure that the only peace of sanity you had were in speaking about them, speaking about a particularly interesting wording. I failed you, didn’t I? That was the reason I could not shed a tear. I deserved to shun my pain, for I have not lived to your expectations, letting you go cold when I could have helped you, as you have helped me, regain a footing in life, albeit for even a short duration. Even now, though your thought brings in a doom that is not easily erased, I refuse to drop a tear. But, I am not cold grand pa, wherever you are, please know that, I love you the most. May be, love falls short, I respect you with all my heart and there is nothing I would not give to turn back the time to a few years back, if only to spend the last moments embracing you, or even touching you. May be, some day, when I can forgive myself, I shall bleed for you, but till then, please know that, you have imbibed in me the very principles that allow me to survive. Mom, Dad, Grand ma, had their share of wisdom to impart, but we shared something that none could understand, the love for books, the love for words, and above all, love for a promise. I will gladly walk to the mouth of death, if it means I can stick to my word and I am right. You taught me that.
I would say I miss you, but I don’t deserve that. Though I miss your presence, your memory is alive, fresh and inspiring.
Ever yours,
Your grand daughter.
Dearest Grandpa,
I love you, a lot. It might not have come out, especially in the flag end of your life, where your grandchildren were your only beacon of light. I have not filled in the role of being a grand daughter, thanks to my own guilt of being a constant disturbance. I cannot feel your void, though there is a choke in my voice and thought, when I think of you, for you are physically no more and you cannot materialize in front of me, particularly when I read a good book or achieved something in my life, however trivial it may be, to appreciate, acknowledge and later proudly share the information to friends and relatives.
I remember the small steps I took alongside you as a kid on your morning walks, waving happily to all your morning-walk friends. I remember the stories you told me every single day after your dinner and mine. I remember the small rides your chauffeur gave me when you came back from your office. I remember the numerous questions I asked on your stories and the enthusiasm with which you went about reciting another relic from our culture. I remember you talking about a story and asking me the moral and speaking of the values that the story spoke about. I did not realize then, but now, I am humbled by those times I spent with you, where you built in me the very core values I stand on today. I remember asking you to recite me the story about Lord Shiva, repeatedly and how you read to me every morning, in your sing-song voice and then explained the meaning to me. I remember sharing your food from your plate, watching the evening news and waiting for it to be over so that I can hear another interesting story. I remember the legend you were, rising from the lowest level to the highest, through sheer determination and the farewell you received from your colleagues, who respected you, looked up to you and the kind words, your superior and your mentor spoke about you. I remember you speaking about the importance a teacher holds in your life and preaching that a teacher is God and next only to mother. I remember the discussions I had with you on the other works of fiction and how we went on for hours from one topic to other without the knowledge of time.
But where was I grandpa, when you needed someone to make you happy? I am the only one who took after your voracious appetite for books and I am sure that the only peace of sanity you had were in speaking about them, speaking about a particularly interesting wording. I failed you, didn’t I? That was the reason I could not shed a tear. I deserved to shun my pain, for I have not lived to your expectations, letting you go cold when I could have helped you, as you have helped me, regain a footing in life, albeit for even a short duration. Even now, though your thought brings in a doom that is not easily erased, I refuse to drop a tear. But, I am not cold grand pa, wherever you are, please know that, I love you the most. May be, love falls short, I respect you with all my heart and there is nothing I would not give to turn back the time to a few years back, if only to spend the last moments embracing you, or even touching you. May be, some day, when I can forgive myself, I shall bleed for you, but till then, please know that, you have imbibed in me the very principles that allow me to survive. Mom, Dad, Grand ma, had their share of wisdom to impart, but we shared something that none could understand, the love for books, the love for words, and above all, love for a promise. I will gladly walk to the mouth of death, if it means I can stick to my word and I am right. You taught me that.
I would say I miss you, but I don’t deserve that. Though I miss your presence, your memory is alive, fresh and inspiring.
Ever yours,
Your grand daughter.
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