To My Dear Granddad

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This was meant to be written in my grandfather's lifetime,

But so uncertain is life that I thought there was yet time.

So I kept it biding.

My grandfather was the person my father reveres the most,

Disciplined and principled, his role model,

Someone my stolid father looked up to.

Silent, subtle and severe-looking, he would sit

On his cane chair, and there would merely be

An exchange of a few words between him and me,

Separated by a generation and by language.

Of language, I am not so sure, for he was an avid reader

Of English novels, of the language itself. Not merely that,

He was a critic, a reading enthusiast- a keen observer,

Of characters and plots among many other pragmatic things.

But with my father his conversations were endless.

And Appa careered wisdom from Thatha's few, meaningful words,

While he painted vivid pictures for a man living in solitude,

Loquaciously. Like black and white in the pictures before my time.

I have learnt a lesson about loss.

It leaves a void for every relation, without doubt,

But it does much more for those indebted to, in virtue

And love, as well as providing for,

The departed. I don't think everyone has the right

To mourn a loss. It seems unfair

To those who are so grieved by it, that something 

In their lives, seems turned around.

For Appa, I think it will be the routine,

Of the Saturday morning 9:45 a.m. calls,

To his father. He has not missed a single 

Of these, whether at an orientation, function,

Or immersed in work. Since my childhood,

If one thing has remained constant in our lives,

It is this call. I have even given it its own name!

Saturday mornings seem unfathomable without it,

But I know that something almost, if not just as,

Special, will come to take its place.

Time will heal, and new bonds will be forged.

Although I didn't know Thatha very closely;

From Appa, I have heard often, of his good practices.

He was wise with his money, a shrewd investor,

Passionate about local politics. His heart, I have heard too,

Was in America. He loved the place, its politics, its successes.

He would have loved to settle down there as a doctor.

But livelihood came first. So he joined a municipal office,

As a tax officer, but kept track of the developments overseas.

I thought him to be political and shrewd, in a quiet, unobtrusive

Way. What I loved about him the most, was his raging independence,

His ability to handle relationships with those who served him,

A quality that my father values and tries to exude.

Thatha was a wise man, who thought on his feet,

As well as off it- reflecting on little things- he had a razor-like 

Memory. So youth had not left him, even in old age,

He had taken the good from it and left behind the frivolity.

In all aspects, Thatha, you were a person to be respected,

And I think I have learnt a lot from you,

Directly as well as vicariously,

I think I will continue to do so, as Appa's tales about you,

Will not end. Our love for you is limitless.

And you will thrive eternally in our hearts,

Dear Thatha.

May your soul rest in peace.

Amen.