Iron Man

Some memories, some numbers, some relations never fade. I was always fascinated with the year 1900 because my Grandfather was born that year. Darji, we called him as in Sikh families, we call father or Grandfather Darji.

He was a Police officer during Pre-independence period & an Advocate by profession. His Black & White Portrait of a young man in Uniform with Ribbons & badges would always startle me as my Darji was an old wrinkled lean man with flowing white beard. I could never understand how age ages a person.

A store house of knowledge, he introduced the world of Shakespeare to me. It would be mesmerizing to hear his explanations of ‘Much Ado about Nothing.’ In his late 80s, he would help my sister and me with our School Homework. Once, when he went to stay with my uncle, our mode of communication was live via exchanging letters. I would write a letter and in the return mail, I would get my letter edited with crosses and circles. A seventh-grade girl would get offended to get such edited letters. But now I feel that his method of teaching was the most effective.

The Epidemic of Plague in India in the year 1905 had taken the life of his mother. Though he was a small child of 5 at that time, yet he remembered the pain of parting away from his mother. He was the witness of 1918 Pandemic flu. Recollecting his painful memories of the flu, which had taken the lives of his close relative, was the dreariest memories. I could hardly understand the gravity of pain. Never had I realized that we too would witness such a pandemic. These stories about life, suffering, pain and happiness were endless. Nostalgic he would get, thinking of life during pre -independence times in Pakistan. Being a police officer, he was actively involved bringing back the people safely from Pakistan during partition time. His contributions during the partition days were penned in Giani Gurmukh Singh Musafir Former Chief Minister of Punjab’s book. Recalling the painful partition and division of a country into two, he would get agitated but soon enough get pacified as well.

A progressive man, he would encourage us to read more and more. He used to make a folder of News clips, puzzles, riddles & word search for us. He would often talk about equality of gender.  Such accounts would be very monotonous to listen to. Never had I realized that these repetitive conversations would make me feel proud one day.

He was a widower with hardly any social life. Still I could always see a spark of optimism in him. He would wait for month end to get pension and would call us to give pocket money. That would be a treat day for us. I would cycle to the local baker and get his preferred bakery biscuits and cakes. Evening tea with a game of cards or carom was the best entertainment for three of us- Darji, Shelley and I.

A very self-supporting person, he would do gardening even at 89. With Green fingers, his kitchen garden had a variety of fruits ranging from Grapes, Papaya, Berries, Apple Custard, Litchis, Grape Fruit to Aloe vera.  Aloe Vera massages to relieve his knee pain, Sun bathing to get Vitamin D, regular exercises were a part of his day to day life which was seldom appreciated. After he left, there have been just traces of these plants and trees. Jasmine tree is the only shrub which is still loaded with hundreds of flowers every day, even after so many years. The aroma of these flowers in each and every nook and corner of the house still reminds me of his presence around the place. Now that he isn’t with us, I wonder what all I could have learnt from him.

I was 11 years old when he slipped and had multiple fractures. During those days, he would often wonder about life after death and would tell me that he would definitely come back after death to tell me the enigmas of death. Bed ridden and sufferings didn’t last for much time. In this one month of discomfort and desolation, I saw a different nature of my Darji. He was always irritated and lost temper and patience at the slightest provocation. As a self-sufficient and active person being in a helpless state was killing him. Slowly he started losing control of his mind and body.

On an inauspicious afternoon, he wasn’t responding well. Doctor visited our place and soon there started a series of rituals and visitors at our place.  I knew he was no more with us. Emptiness surrounded the place with the Bhog and Antim Ardas. The grief of loss was slow as it took some time for me to understand that he is no more. His vacant room, the smell of Jasmine flowers in the room, the books, bottle of his favorite Chawanprash soon became a thing of the past. I kept waiting for him to come back to share the mysteries of life after death but he never came. The pain of losing the super hero of our family is still fresh after 30 years. Reliving the memories each passing day!