Pitaji

Some of my fondest memories of Pitaji are also the funniest. He once prayed to a cockroach to seek its forgiveness after he accidentally squashed it under his sandal. The story has run in the family ever since.

He was loving to all and he was loved by all. His soft, mysterious chuckle and faraway, twinkling eyes found their place in everyone’s hearts like a warm bowl of soup on a wintry Delhi evening. He made people wonder what joke his sharp mind had come up with or what friendly conversations with the neighbor he was recounting to himself. He was a simple man but he taught profound values... forgiveness, gratefulness, optimism, respect and patience are only a few that he practiced and inspired so naturally. He enjoyed creating tales about himself that friends and family would scramble to tell on several occasions as they toasted to his happy-go-lucky self and refreshing wisdom. His enigma was a charm.

He was principled and devoted. He didn’t go a day without a complete recital of the Hanuman Chalisa after his evening cup of tea. He made sure to glimpse the TV news between orations of fanciful life stories, skim the daily paper with his lips pursed and, before dinner, perform Asana with Ama, humming with the bassy cadence of his voice that I can still hear far too clearly.

Pitaji loved his evening walks because that was when he got to share pleasantries with children in the park. He was an educationist, also a conversationalist. Gitanjali poems evoked dramatic but genuine praises from him and our assignments intrigued him despite their unfair seasongings of jargon. He amused himself with Ama’s light scoldings and engrossed himself in Mummy’s narratives from work. In his world, boredom didn't exist.

It has been a long time since I held Pitaji’s cool hands or kissed him on his cheeks before whispering our goodnights. I know that as long as I remember his crinkly, knowing smile, the world will be just fine.