[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.16″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ text_font=”Questrial||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”18px” text_line_height=”1.8em” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
I used to peep through his spectacles from behind when he read \u2014 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\u2019t the only thing I learned from him.<\/p>\n
It always amazed me how he loved silence \u2014 how calmness seemed to settle around everything he did. You would never find him sitting idle. He was always doing something \u2014 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 \u2014 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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
The so-called \u201cgeneration gap\u201d never really allowed me to become like him, but today I realize how deeply he influenced me. Mom says I\u2019ve inherited many of his habits \u2014 and I like it when she says that that.<\/p>\n
Among the many shawls in his cupboard, my favorite was a grey one printed \u201cDakshin Bharat Hindi Prachar Sabha 1992.\u201d<\/em> 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.<\/p>\n I still remember what he told me while gifting that Parker pen on the day I left for Hyderabad for my first job:<\/p>\n \u201cWhatever 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\u2019t lose your other skills and hobbies along the way, don\u2019t make it only about job \u2014 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n He smiled as he said that last line, but I could see tears glimmering behind the corners of his spectacles.<\/p>\n These days, he doesn\u2019t recognize me anymore. He refuses to talk when I call. He no longer remembers my face.<\/p>\n My grandpa turns eighty-eight today.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Row” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_menu _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_menu][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I used to peep through his spectacles from behind when he read \u2014 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\u2019t the only thing I learned from him. It always amazed me how he loved […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":90,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"\n I used to peep through his spectacles from behind when he read books - Just to know how those letters appeared to him. I remember I was in 6th std those days. He used to teach me Hindi : to be frank that was not the only thing that I learned from him. It always amazed me how he loved silence and calmness in everything he does. At home only I was allowed to enter him room - books, glass framed photos and other valuable certificates kept everyone else away from his room. Many times I have over utilized that freedom which always ended up in breaking something. But I never got angry on him in between my tears and cries - when he scolds for that. I saw him for the first time when i was 8. Like any one else would, the first thing I noticed about him was his white khadi dress. Did I miss that gold plated old Parker ink pen? I always dreamed of writing with that. The so called \u201cgeneration gap\u201d never allowed me to become like him. But today I realize that the time spent with him did influence me a lot. Mom says I got his behaviour in many matters. I liked that grey colored shawl the most, printed as \u201cDakshin Bharat Hindi Prachar Sabha 1992\" which was awarded to him - among those huge bundle of shawls in his cupboard. I loved wearing it and doing that award receiving act, in front of that big mirror in his room. Each time I managed to keep it back rushing - hearing his foot steps. I still remember what he told while gifting me that pen on the day I left to Hyderabad for my first job. \u201cWhat ever field you choose, become the best in that. And be proud to say that you are nothing in other subjects. There are many things valuable than money. Don\u2019t miss your other skills in the journey. When you become old like me, those would be the only companion to escape from this slow moving time. All are not lucky like me, to have you in their old days.\u201d He smiled when he said that last sentence. But I could see tears in his eyes through the corners of his spectacle.\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
These days, he refuses to recognize me. He refuses to talk to me on phone when I call. He no more remembers my face. My grandpa turns 88 today.<\/p>\n","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-87","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creations"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/87","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=87"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/87\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":362,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/87\/revisions\/362"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/90"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=87"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=87"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=87"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}