Dadu, Grandfather

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The one who lives on…

In the memory of a soul who may not be famous yet eminent enough to be remembered in our hearts even almost a year later.

He, Rama Prasad Saraswati is here present not just as a candle’s flame but as a bonfire in our hearts which will never turn dim or ever even die out.

I remember all those times when we used to sit together and enjoy… It was a sacred bond that we shared. Isn’t it strange that we don’t realize what we have when we don’t have it anymore?

I remember all those times when I was younger and soi was he that is as young a retire old man can be. He used to take hold of our hands- my sister’s and mine in each of his… and take us out every single time we ended up in the city.

He used to ask as what we wanted and get us treats of our own choices …no matter what they were but then my sister and were also decent humans and never asked for more than our share.

I remember the first year when we had ended up settling in Kolkata. I didn’t have anyone to help me with my studies, so he taught me the ropes .

When I was about seven he had got a new costly pair of spectacles. He used to love them way too much so as naughty as I was … I used to take them away and then he used to chase me down the house to get hold of what was dearest to him at that time.

Once when he was visiting us at Bangalore, I ended up taking a bottle of black paint and painted his hair in streaks, somehow after the incident his head started growing black hair.

It is something that one will never forget that he used to just sit on his bed and read all day long with a minimum of 5 cups of tea. Sometimes when I drank coffee, he would also ask for a cup and I would end up sneaking a few of his favorite biscuits from the box that he would keep beside himself.

We would often end up chatting on random topics… he would tell me about his past or he would read out something from his books or the newspaper.

He was from Rajshahi, which is in present day Bangladesh. Each summer he used to swim in the majestic waters of the Ganges. He used to play football with “Batabi Laeboo” and had once fractured his nose while playing… that is what left it a bit crooked.

Few months before he passed away, the intensity of my visits had decreased due to the increasing pressure of my studies but yet I made it my aim to visit him atleast once in a week.

A week or two prior to his death, my father had broken the news to me and told that he won’t live long… that was when I started to go and see him each day atleast once sometimes twice…. And truly his health was deteriorating… his cancer had spread throughout his body. He could hardly eat.

In the last few days they had trouble even while they were just making him sit up… it took a lot of time to convince him to do the things which are necessary for one’s survival.  I remember the time when I used to place my hand on his temple and move it over his head…  it would be obvious from his facial expression that he used to enjoy that.

On his last morning, I had gone to visit him.. it was about 8 15 minutes before his death.

He was sleeping his eyes were half open. I had placed my hand over his forehead and moved it over his head and then softly closed his eyes. I had kissed his head and left… little did I know that was the last time I would be seeing him.

But then letting go is the best thing that happened, I would not have wanted him to live in pain… Allowing your loved ones to choose the path they want is sometimes hard yet it is best.

A year since we said adieu... the portion of the heart which we lost is filled up again… happy memories of him fill my heart.

 Never ever shed tears because they will feel bad for going when they look at us shining brightly from the sky above. Smile and say “ I hope you will be happy in the journey ahead” when they actually embark on the real journey ahead… when they step in the dark abyss ahead that we can’t see with our mortal eyes.

Subhanjali Saraswati