See you later, Baba
Our beloved Baba passed away yesterday at the age of 93, peacefully, in his sleep, surrounded by his loved ones. Here is the post I wrote about him several years ago.
Baba may technically be my grandfather, but he was always much more than that to me. Up until leaving India at the age of 6, my grandparents raised me. Most people have two parents, but I got lucky- I had three.
My earliest memory is of falling asleep on Baba’s shoulder as he sang to me while walking in the courtyard. As I got a little older, I would sleep in between my grandparents, and my grandfather would weave an incredible story that have inspired a lifetime of lucid dreams. From recounts of his own very real adventures such as catching rattlesnakes with his bare hands or traveling through France, to the mythological legends of Ramayan to the Mahabharata, to magical fictional creations of his own, his ability to light up your world with enchanting stories was otherworldly. He made everything come to life! I was enthralled and couldn’t wait to explore a new fantasy land with him every night.
Baba was a romantic and a renaissance man- whip smart, talented, with impeccable taste, he had an unparalleled love of life (and wife), and a fearless thirst for adventure. He was utterly charming- handsome, polished, and eloquent with a grounded ease yet vivacious spirit. His mind was nimble until the very end, recalling old memories with startlingly acute detail. Even spending a few minutes chatting with him was enough to fill me with wonder, excitement, and the inspiration to explore more of life. My Baba had more life in his little pinky at 93 than most most Gen Z’rs I’ve met to date combined.
His real life romance with my Aji would throw most romcoms to shame. It seemed like every day, they fell more and more in love. Through thick and thin, Aji took care of Baba. And Baba supported her to explore her own philosophical learnings. You could always count on their playful banter to brighten up any room. Baba would start recounting a romantic memory of Aji with tears brimming in his eyes, and then Aji would playfully make a joke at his expense and start giggling and clapping her hands together. They were absolutely adorable together, laughing at their own inside jokes, kissing each other’s booboos, and feeding each other their favorite foods. Together they traveled the world, always hand in hand, and Baba would find romance in every day in small ways- whether it was to pick a flower for my Aji, to lovingly call her “Ashu,” or to buy her a small piece of jewelry or a sari that she would love. Even though it wasn’t always easy, they found the light in every day.
Whenever I would come to visit in India, he made sure that the house was stocked with every fruit from that season. Baba knew how to love, and he was a gentleman of the highest integrity. When my Aji nags me to get married, I can see why- She had the kind of love that romance novels are based on. I’d say to her “well, if I ever meet a man like my Baba, I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”
I was very fortunate to be with him days prior to his passing. I’ll forever cherish those moments. When I first got a chance to see him, he held my hand tight and gazed into my eyes with childlike wonder, drinking in the sight of me with a beaming smile for what felt like hours, finally breaking the silence to say “Tu kitti chaan ahes ga.” In the coming days Aji and I sang to him as he nodded along with pleasure, laughed about old memories, and talked about all of life’s intricacies. I rubbed his tiny little feet gently which look so similar to my own, put lotion on his arms, and held his hand. This time I became the storyteller, and told him about my travels and adventures. His curiosity and excitement was innate, and he sparked to life as I showed him photos of the Northern Lights in Alaska, flower gardens in Sweden, and climbing trees with monkeys in the Amazon. He made me promise to show him more the next day and to me, “Asha A One! New York! Mala (tujha) kai abhimaan ahe”. All too soon, it came time to leave him, and I could hardly bear it. A lump rose in my throat and I felt rooted to the floor. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we wouldn’t be seeing each other again, but I told him I was leaving, and I think he knew this would be our last meeting. He held me in an embrace so tight and familiar, that it could only be ours, unwilling to let go. Finally, as I broke the embrace, he looked at me with a smile and said “have a good life.” I kissed his cheek, and said goodbye.
The following day after I’d left, he apparently asked everyone to “get ready” for a big event that we were hosting- an event that would be attended by his parents, his brother, and some other friends- all of whom had already passed away. He said that Aai and Apa (his deceased parents) were going to come to take him home. I don’t know much about what happens when someone leaves this world, but I find comfort in thinking that he wasn’t alone in his final moments, and he was happy, and at peace.
No amount of time ever feels like enough. I find myself often wishing that my grandparents and mother were all my age, so we could have more time together. I’m certain that Baba and I have a connection that extends beyond this life. Here’s to you, my dearest Baba- I hope to live this life with your love of life, unbreakable spirit, and eternal wonder. When my time has come, I know you’ll come to get me for the next one.
