Silver in his hair and gold in his heart
As I begin to write this, I realize how very little I know of the man I call my grandfather. All that I have seen and heard of him comes down to the fact that not only was he the pillar of our family but also a great friend, a father-figure, an inspiration and a guru to the ones that were lucky enough to know him.
He’d light up a whole room. It was not only his humble personality that made him shine from the inside, but also the love he held for the ones who so affectionately deemed him as their own. I do not remember how often had he held me in his arms as a child, but I will never forget the look on his face, filled with love for me and the longing to go back to his family and home on the day I last saw him.
My grandfather was the eldest amongst eight children. He was born in 1936 in a small town of Jandiala in Punjab, India. Having studied till just the 10th grade, he took up the responsibility of his family at a tender age at which, today individuals like you and me only think of how fast the world and its ways move. At the age of 18 in the year 1954, he moved to Ludhiana to make a living for the entire family. After working as a laborer in knitting factories and struggling to earn a living, he finally bought a single hand-knitting machine to begin his own venture. What he began with was a meager sum of Rs. 1200, and today what we see is the huge empire and the legacy that he left behind for his children and grandchildren to live up to.
In the year 1960, he married my grandmother. Little did they know that in the years to come, together they would build a world of their own filled with values, joy, laughter and so much love that it would be all they needed when the time came. They bore four children; a daughter and three sons. They not only brought their children up with the values that today are passed on to my generation, but my grandfather also brought up each of his younger brothers as they were his own children. The kind of love and respect that I see between them today is something that I don’t think exists elsewhere.
It is said that you have not lived until you have done something for someone who cannot repay you. My grandfather lived each day of his life trying to help people. His acts of kindness remain etched on the minds and hearts of people whose lives he touched. His dedication towards helping the less fortunate and the under privileged led him to take it upon himself to fulfill the wishes of his late friend, who he held as an elder brother. He helped to establish the hospital that they had dreamt of. Today that hospital is one of the best charitable hospitals in the state of Punjab. He gave all that he could to make this happen, and even till his last breath, tried to carry forward the legacy left behind by his beloved brother. My grandfather brought together the clan of our forefather, and rebuilt the ancestral temple in his honor, in Amritsar.
The year 1964 saw the formation of a partnership. This was a partnership not only of individuals starting an enterprise, but a partnership of families that vowed to be there for one another in times of celebration, suffering and anything that the skies had in store for them. My grandfather, along with his brother began manufacturing woven labels and soon became the pioneers in their area of work. The two brought the name of their establishment amongst the top label manufacturers in the country, leading them to be felicitated by the then Prime Minister. My grandfather introduced another one of his friends, to the company to be able to expand its horizons. Together with their brothers, they created and nurtured the family that amplified over the years.
My grandfather had his ways of showing the immense love he held for his family. I vividly remember him asking all the kids to line up on the dining table to eat mangoes with him after the day’s dinner. He would cut huge chunks of the fruit and not let us waste a single morsel. On Diwali, he would bring home massive sacks of firecrackers and gifts without us having to ask for them.
He was a man of great taste. He loved to travel with his family and friends. So much so that, we would all make a trip out of it at least once a year. He was a master at card games. The memory of my grandmother and him bickering about who cheated to win a game of cards still brings a smile to my face.
The greatest lesson that I have learnt from my grandfather’s life is that one must die empty. He accomplished everything he had ever wanted, with no regrets whatsoever. And I think that leaving with a legacy like that would be the greatest sign of success. Daada Ji, if you are listening to my words and if you can feel what I felt for you all my life, know this that, it is you who put the ‘grand’ in the word “Grandfather”. There will not be a day when we don’t think of how lucky we were to have known and loved you. You will live forever in our hearts.
Yesterday was my grandfather’s 6th death anniversary. Not a single day passes when I don’t think of how little it is that I know of the man that built our family and gave us the means to live our privileged lives.
I wish I knew him better. I wish I spent more time with him, talked to him more. It’s times like these you wish you could have done more.
I visited him at the hospital in his last days. They wouldn’t let in visitors, but one member of his family could visit him for an hour a day. I went to see him once. He had tubes that’d feed him, help him breathe. He looked small. A man as proud and elegant as he was, he looked up at me and all I saw was his longing for home. I sat down beside him and began talking. The attending nurse told me that he wouldn’t be able to reply to me, but he understands and nods.
He had suffered from a brain bleed. Having been diagnosed with Parkinson’s a couple of years before, things had been tough. So when he underwent surgery for the bleed, his health–given his age– couldn’t keep up.
I began talking about home. About my grandmother who had been praying day in and out for his recovery, and about my nieces and nephews who had barely just gotten to know their great grand father. I started planning a big family vacation, like the ones he would plan when I was a child. A huge troop of cousins and kids with playing cards, board games, and food for days going up to the mountains. It lit his eyes up. He smiled. A smile, according to the nurse, that the staff hadn’t seen since he’d been in that room. I held on to his hand as tightly as I could, and he squeezed mine back, smiling at me with tears in his eyes. I will never forget that day. It was the closest I have ever felt to him. That moment replays in my head every time I think about him.
I may have never said it in my 25 years, but in my own silent ways, I loved my grandfather. I know its no use saying it now, but this is how I process that it has been 6 years since my grandmother stopped playing cards. Because she only played cards with him, and picked fights, and laughed.
I sometimes wish people we love didn’t have to die. But I also think that if they didn’t, how would we find ourselves? How would circles complete themselves?
