Papu (as we lovingly called my grandpa) was a man of few words, and mostly kept to himself in his period of retirement. I have heard stories of his passionate involvement in the labour union for bank employees, how he relentlessly fought for their rights, and how he had never budged from achieving his ends.
Numerous anecdotes illustrate his greatness. In the early sixties, at the beginning of his career, he once wore veshti and shirt to work and was barred from entering the office. A rebel in his own rights, he quit the job to express his defiance; he was an unpretentious man who always professed only what he truly practised in his own life. Being born in an orthodox family that upholds tradition and follows conventional rituals without questioning, Papu was different. He possessed the courage and the individuality to rise above the repressive and oppressive effects of caste and creed. He stood as a role model for us to emulate and worship. He passed on his rebellious spirit to his son, daughters and grandchildren. His wife (my Patti) is no less a rebel. Patti and Papu never discussed caste or religion at home. I have never cared about my religious identity for I never witnessed people who did when I grew up.
Papu is synonymous with love. He never hated a man nor had he wished anything bad for anyone ever. He taught his children and grandchildren to be brave and always stand up for what is right. His love sustained me as a kid and his loving memories would be my sustenance in future.
I was fortunate to have my grandparents with me during my growing-up years - they held my hands teaching me to take small little steps as toddlers; fed my mind and tummy with stories and food; strengthened and moulded me with morals to carry forward their legacy. I fondly smile with contentment as I look back and reflect on the times I spent with my Papu.
Papu was a father I never had, a grandpa one could never find, and a man who left his indelible mark on the world.
