#memory

For a couple of days, I have been thinking of my grandfather. My grandpa had darker skin and bluish eyes. He arrived in India around 1947, when, India became independent.

He was well-built, and, very intelligent. He was an honest, hard-working man; a man of his word.

I never knew this during his lifetime, because he never mentioned it himself, but after his passing away, I was told:

He was the only young man in his village to have completed an MA in English.

Something within him, prompted him, to be different from all his contemporaries.

So, at a very young age - probably inspired by a mentor - he set upon getting an education. To this, he remained committed for around 20 years. And, accomplished what he began to do.

He was well-respected in this community. Throughout his life, people met him with a respect for his achievements. He lived in New Delhi all his life.

But more than that, he was respected for the kind of man he was. He died unaccused, and, respected.

There is a lot I remember about him.

The things I remember are: he was was deeply affectionate toward children. And, at the same time, he was ruthlessly disciplined. He sympathized with the weak, and, expected more from the gifted.

He had high hopes for me.

And, if he met me today, I think he would surely be disappointed. And then, he would ask for the reasons.

At the end of it all, despite the reasons - valid or not - there's the effort that must not cease. That's what I believe in; despite his absence.

... and that is all, for now.