A tribute

It's been a couple of tough days for me and my family as we bereave the death of my grandfather. He passed away on August 8 at 10.28 am. I was allowed to see him on the hospital bed as he lay out of breath. I couldn't bear the sight of a motionless tatha (what I used to call him), after having seen him bouncing with life for the 22 years of my life. I took one deep breath, closed my eyes, memorised how his face looked and fled out of the ICU.
As I stepped out, everyone and everything around me seemed pensive. My folks were planning out the last rites. I decided to walk towards home, to my granny. As I entered home, the mood was grim. My mom and aunties were weeping. I tried consoling my mom, and then realised the futility of the activity. It's unacceptable to ask people not to express grief, while one is experiencing it. I went to the other room to my granny and the fact that she was putting up a brave front gave me a lot of strength.
It seemed as though all hell had broken lose when they brought tatha home. It was one of the most depressing sights of my life and will remain so. Clad in a white dhoti, cotton plugged in his nostrils, he arrived, lifeless. That's when everyone broke down into tears. And, I let them run down too. I mourned his death with scores present.
My tatha was a noble man. And everyone was aware of his kindness. He was genuinely worried about everybody he knew. He genuinely cared for his kids, their kids and even their kids. Age was no bar to make a conversation with tatha. I would find great company in him to watch cricket or tennis or F1. We had even watched many episodes of my favourite sitcom Friends together.
I haven't met another man more accommodating, adjusting and adapting than tatha. He would never complain about anything -- a head ache, a stomach ache, a bad fall, a bruised leg. Nothing bothered him but the wellness of the world around him. He didn't mind bearing the onus of the whole world around him as long as everyone he cared for was well.
There have been times when he has completely ignored his illnesses to take care of my granny. He would nurse her day in and day out. He would insist that she rested, while he chopped vegetables, cooked lunch and even served it. He would even help the domestic help with other daily chores.
He was extremely active for a septuagenarian. He would wake up at four every morning. Go for a walk by the lakeside and be back home to prepare breakfast. In the evening, he would be out in the market shopping for vegetables and other grocery. He would make a visit to the temple every now and then too. I am not sure whether he was thoroughly religious, though I believe that it was more out of habit that he offered his morning and evening prayer rituals.
He was immensely respected by his colleagues, neighbours, friends, children, grand children and even great grand children. He was looked up by one and all.
I pay my humble tribute to tatha, who bought me a little red umbrella when I was six. I have lost the umbrella, but its memory remains etched in my mind -- the patterns and prints on it, the yellow u-shaped handle. My grandpa will also remain etched in my memory, a large share of it. Forever.