I used to peep through his spectacles from behind when he read — just to see how those letters appeared to him. I was in the sixth standard then. He used to teach me Hindi; but to be honest, that wasn’t the only thing I learned from him.
It always amazed me how he loved silence — how calmness seemed to settle around everything he did. You would never find him sitting idle. He was always doing something — tending to the garden, fixing a piece of furniture, oiling and calibrating the old wall clock, or repairing his fountain pens. At times, he even went as far as plumbing or masonry. Beneath his bed sat a huge iron box filled with scrap materials — things that seemed utterly useless to anyone else, yet somehow, he found a purpose for each of them. Every day, something from that box would find its way into one of his little repairs or inventions.
At home, I was the only one allowed to enter his room. Books, glass-framed photographs, and certificates lined the walls, quietly warning everyone else to stay away. Many times, I overused that privilege, often ending up breaking something. Yet even through my tears and his scoldings, I never once felt angry at him.
I first saw him when I was eight. Like anyone would, the first thing I noticed was his white khadi dress. Did I forget to mention the gold-plated old Parker ink pen in his pocket? I always dreamed of writing with it.
The so-called “generation gap” never really allowed me to become like him, but today I realize how deeply he influenced me. Mom says I’ve inherited many of his habits — and I like it when she says that that.
Among the many shawls in his cupboard, my favorite was a grey one printed “Dakshin Bharat Hindi Prachar Sabha 1992.” I loved wearing it, pretending to receive an award in front of the big mirror in his room. Each time, I would rush to put it back the moment I heard his footsteps.
I still remember what he told me while gifting that Parker pen on the day I left for Hyderabad for my first job:
“Whatever field you choose, become the best in it. And be proud to say you are nothing in other subjects. There are many things more valuable than money. Don’t lose your other skills and hobbies along the way, don’t make it only about job — when you grow old like me, those will be your only companions to escape from this slow-moving time. Not everyone is as lucky as me, to have you in their old days.”
He smiled as he said that last line, but I could see tears glimmering behind the corners of his spectacles.
These days, he doesn’t recognize me anymore. He refuses to talk when I call. He no longer remembers my face.
My grandpa turns eighty-eight today.