It has been a very long time since I last spoke to Dadu. It must have been during my last Ahmedabad-Calcutta trip, via Delhi. Over a year and a half ago. It was a hurried visit, as always. He was looking so much better, walking around in his room. We had discussed politics, my new job and my then-current interest (the Partition and its horror stories). A retired Hindustan Times Politcal editor for South-east Asia, he was a mine of information.
Dadu was my grandmother’s youngest brother. Having lost my own grandparents at an early age, he and his wife were my surrogate grandparents. When I was barely five years old, my father had gone to England for a course and my mother had joined him for a month. I had been left behind at Dadu’s house in Delhi. My uncles, his sons, were still in high school and college and were no competition for me. I demanded everyone’s love and attention. I was taken along for all social gatherings, where I was shown off. I was their pride and joy. The only reason I never missed having my own grandparents was because I had them.
Over the years as I grew older we didn’t meet as often. Not more than once a year. And that too happened during rushed brief visits to Delhi. By then, their children had had children and the love that was reserved only for me was passed on to the new additions. I was no longer the cynosure of their lives. Perhaps I felt a bit jealous, and my visits to their house were more out of duty than anything else.
I woke up early this morning, just before 5 a.m., extremely restless. A strange uneasiness gripped me and I twisted and turned in bed for a long time till I drifted back into sleep. Later, on the way to work my mother called up to inform me that Dadu had passed away sometime early in the morning.
I would like to think that he thought of me once, in his last thoughts, for he shall always be in mine.
Maybe I didn’t treat you
Quite as good as I should have
Maybe I didn’t love you
Quite as often as I could have
Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind
~Elvis
Dadu was my grandmother’s youngest brother. Having lost my own grandparents at an early age, he and his wife were my surrogate grandparents. When I was barely five years old, my father had gone to England for a course and my mother had joined him for a month. I had been left behind at Dadu’s house in Delhi. My uncles, his sons, were still in high school and college and were no competition for me. I demanded everyone’s love and attention. I was taken along for all social gatherings, where I was shown off. I was their pride and joy. The only reason I never missed having my own grandparents was because I had them.
Over the years as I grew older we didn’t meet as often. Not more than once a year. And that too happened during rushed brief visits to Delhi. By then, their children had had children and the love that was reserved only for me was passed on to the new additions. I was no longer the cynosure of their lives. Perhaps I felt a bit jealous, and my visits to their house were more out of duty than anything else.
I woke up early this morning, just before 5 a.m., extremely restless. A strange uneasiness gripped me and I twisted and turned in bed for a long time till I drifted back into sleep. Later, on the way to work my mother called up to inform me that Dadu had passed away sometime early in the morning.
I would like to think that he thought of me once, in his last thoughts, for he shall always be in mine.
Maybe I didn’t treat you
Quite as good as I should have
Maybe I didn’t love you
Quite as often as I could have
Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind
~Elvis
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