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“The trouble is, you think you have time”.
You don’t. I didn’t.
There is nothing in this world, more painful and heart wrecking than to feel the last fading pulse of your loved one .Nothing can be more mind numbing. It is that moment, when you can give everything you have, everything you can, to bring the person back to life, but you can’t, in fact nobody can.
He was my grandfather, my Baba.
He was born on 4th of May in the year 1929.Of great stature and lean body, deep set eyes; long nose with a mole on the right side, he was one heck of a good looking gentleman. And he would blush if you were to mention it to him.
Words fail to justify the glorious life that he lived. A man of his words and virtue and a religious disciple of the truth. A do-gooder,his goodwill extended the boundries of all possibilities. His persona was larger than life itself. With this immense god-like nature, he remained humble. Humility didn’t leave his side even for a fraction of second. He cherished and nurtured his family. Very particular about his health and diet. Equally concerned about everybody else .He cared.He could go to the moon and back for you .A fierce and a loyal friend.One person who was beyond discrimination,; treated everyone alike. A savior,a guide.
He had this aura around him, you couldn’t be sad, or sulking, or even remotely unhappy around him. He could sense it in seconds, and was up to the task to make things right. You could talk to him for hours and hours on a stretch and still he would have energy to deliberate more. He loved to discuss politics and never did he disclose who he gave vote to. Though we could guess, he never confirmed it.
A genius in Economics, he was a Wikipedia. Go to him with the craziest doubt of demand and supply, and you know he was the right person to have come to. A great writer himself and a poet, his words touched those strings, one could only wonder.
We shared this strange bond. I would gossip to him; and trust me all kinds of gossips. We would go on and on .He would tell stories of his childhood, recruitment, office, friends, corruption and stuff,even though he knew half of the jargon I didn’t get. We chatted about cricket and its doom.He would at times, talk about life and related philosophies, and I would keep thinking, "how does he come to think of this great stuff".
He was that big part of my life which I couldn’t have compromised for anything else .With him, died a part of me that he induced.I never told him that I loved him more than one can comprehend, that when I looked at him,I saw somebody I could only wish to be like, one day.That the amount of respect he had, could match up to none, his glory and splendor is something I wish was hereditary .
The last words he said to me was “give me a missed call when you reach home”,to know that i reached safely,one day before he breathed his last.I wish I wudnt have given him only a miss call.I wish I could have called and heard his voice. I wish I knew.I wish there was no cardiac arrest.I wish I could still go to him tomorrow and discuss random stuff.
I guess,this is where man stands helpless in front of God.
But then, he still lives,within me,within papa,within my aunts and uncles and within all those who were ever a part of him.People like him,they don’t die;they cant be killed.I believe they have been made immortal by their very deeds and actions.I would like to believe that there is a part of him that will exist beyond our souls. I am sure he is happy where ever he is now.I am blessed to be his grand daughter ,for having learnt the things said and unsaid by him. Blessed ,for now he is my conscience, and will remain with me till I get to breathe my last.

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About The Author


Mahima Shukla


Madhya Pradesh ,  INDIA


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