A man who held seven grandchildren together with unbiased love, made each one feel that he belongs to them. His customized attire that made him distinctive, his thoughts that made him relevant even in changing times, the wines he made and the beers he celebrated, the conversations he evoked and the smiles that danced on our face when we saw him.
To a man who never feared death and looked at it just as another beginning to an end.
Mothe baba, my grandfather designed his own clothes. He had once got a coat designed in a way that the pockets of the coat matched the fabric of his trousers. When I saw it as a child it mesmerized me. Although my grandmother would often target him with her unmatched sarcasm for his attire, the coat would always draw compliments from the young. He would wear it for most of the family celebrations and it would look new every time. The secret behind the magic was not the coat; it was his persona beaming modesty through his eyes, his mellow voice and his ability to strike a conversation with the quietest soul in the crowd.
A year has passed since his demise but his warmth lingers in our heart, his stories are told to the little ones in the family and I wish to tell them more when they grow up; that a man as beautiful had touched our lives for years.