I was in class fourth when I first invited a school friend to come home. The day after she asked me, ‘I thought your grandfather was a politician. Why are you not rich then?’. She was referring to the 2BHK house where our family of seven lived. I was embarrassed and went back home and asked my dad how come we weren’t rich like all politicians. 

I was too afraid of my grandfather to ever ask him this question directly. Don't get me wrong, he never gave anyone a reason to be afraid of him. I think the amount of respect people showed him made me a little scared of him. 

At a very young age, he took me to the mobile library bus that used to be parked near my house every Thursday and got me my first library card. Every week we would walk to the bus and pick books to read. He never went to bookstores. He did all his book shopping from the old books seller who used to set up shop on the footpath near our house. 

On our weekly trips to the old books seller, we’d encounter many people who’d come say hi to him. He’d talk to everyone as if they had been long-lost friends and ask how they were and how their families were doing. He would always listen. Often at the expense of pissing me (an impatient kid) off. Most of the time he’d later admit that he had no idea who that person was.

But that is just the man he was. Humble. Polite. Always ready to lend an ear. 

Family was at the core of who he was as a person. And for him, the family wasn’t just limited to people who he shared DNA with. We all have experienced him going out of his way to help others. We grew up listening to stories about how he supported a huge family with a professor's salary and still managed to help out members of the extended family monetarily and otherwise. That’s just the kind of person he was. 

Over the years, thousands of people have come to meet him at our home. He’d always make time for everyone. Sometimes while shaving, other times while having a meal, and often in between phone calls. No one would be ignored no matter how late it got, which was particularly annoying to me and my dadi because his 'living room' was also our bedroom, his 'sofa' was my bed!

He was really interested in learning about technology, unlike many of his age. It was impossible to visit him without having to sit down and teach him how the laptop or the iPad or the Kindle or the printer or his phone works. He'd take copious notes in his small diary and (surprise, surprise) forget everything by the next time you saw him.

No matter who visited him at some point, very slyly, he'd say, "accha listen help me out with this thing na". It became a running joke in my family that no one was safe from him.

Not many people know that but he had a great sense of humor. He was also really naughty. He loved provoking people. We have a very loud, very opinionated, very political, and very Punjabi family. No family get-together is complete without arguments over politics. He would initiate a conversation and then provoke people just enough that a lively debate would start. And then he’d just sit in the middle of the chaos with a smile on his face. 

I was always reminded of the depiction of lord Krishna in those moments. I imagined that he must have had the same naughty smile. 

He was my teacher in more than one way. He might have been a Hindi professor but he taught me English. Often he would come home really late at night but then stay up to teach me. I would pretend to fall asleep when he got calls but he’d wake me up. He wanted to make sure he gave me all the time he could.

It started with him asking me to read the newspaper to him when I was in class 3. He pretended he was too busy to read it. That was just his way of teaching English. He would often quote his teacher Mr. Kalsi and say “he, she, it hove te ‘S’ zaroor lagai da (you know - he dances, she walks, it moves)”. I am pretty sure an old copy of Wren and Martin is still somewhere in our house. 

He always nudged me to ask questions. Although, I think at some point he might have regretted that.

When I started working at the Times of India, he used to drop me off at work in the morning. We’d read the paper together and he’d ask me questions like ‘So this politician said this. Why do you think he did this? Do you think this was a good move? Which parties do you think will form a coalition and why?’ We’d argue some more when he’d pick me up on his way back from work. 

When the BJP was in the opposition, there would often be stories about infighting in the party. I’d ask him ‘why do they keep fighting their own? How will they ever win?’ and he’d say ‘this is what a democratic party looks like.’ 

He wasn’t one to complain. He didn’t like to talk about his arrest during the Emergency or what he had to go through. But one of my most cherished memories is of the time he took me to the Coffee House in Connaught Place and told me stories of how during the Emergency he and his friends would secretly meet there to make plans and discuss the issues of the day. All stories were told with just enthusiasm, coffee, and toast. No bitterness. 

He encouraged debate. Even when everyone around him would have rather stayed quiet out of respect. He believed in our democracy and everything it stands for. He gave me Gandhi’s autobiography to read when I was in class 5. A little too early for a child but I did finish the assignment and we discussed it in detail. 

Over the years, we have gotten into some REALLY heated debates. He gave as good as he got. 

One of my favorite memories is of a discussion a few years ago that got so heated that everyone else in the room quietened. My mom and dadi started pleading with us to stop but we kept going on and on and at one point I loudly said, “See! You claim to have liberal values but your bhagwa baniyan (orange vest) will always be visible under whatever clothes you wear”.

There was complete silence in the room and to be honest I also was a little scared and thought I had gotten carried away. But not him. He just burst out laughing. And we carried on with our debate.

That’s who he was. He never held grudges. 

Why am I talking about politics? What else will I talk about? My dadu and I only talked about politics. Every time I'd meet him, he’d ask “so what’s new in the news?”. We talked on the phone often and every time he’d ask me about what was in the news.

When many of our family members and close friends were upset with me for writing about the government, I asked him if I should stop. He looked at me confused and said ‘why?’. His only advice was to never lie and/or write something that I can’t back up with proof. 

He used to get a kick out of telling people that I worked for The Wire.

Whenever his friends would come over, he’d make sure to introduce me … not just as his granddaughter or even his granddaughter who works in the media. But as his granddaughter who works for The Wire and questions the government. These encounters were almost always awkward for me and the others in the room but not him.

You could see that twinkle in his eye. I told you he was naughty. He’d make it a point to read everything I write and then call to discuss it with me.

I sometimes find it really funny when people ask me about my ideology and why that is different from that of many in my family. I tell them they can blame my dadu for it. He taught me how to think. He showed me what it means to stand for your beliefs. He nudged me to question everything. And he told me how proud of me he was when I did all this. 

Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t just a teacher or a politician.

Even during the height of his career, he always made time for us. We’d go for a family vacation every year during the summer holidays. He’d take us to watch the Ram Leela, play games with us during car rides, tell us stories, and take us for picnics. 

He perfected work-life balance even before it was a concept. He would give his everything to his work and causes he believed in while somehow simultaneously managing to be there for his family and friends. Not just in their time of need but also to celebrate the big and small things in life. 

He was loving and kind towards not just us but everyone he met. Many have reached out to me to share their stories of him. Those who don’t agree with his ideology respect him for always reaching out across the aisle.

Kindness is the underlying theme in all stories you will hear about him. 

Loss has followed loss. In some ways, we started losing him right after my dadi died. That’s how strong their connection was. We all saw the pain he was in. So a part of me is relieved. 

I will feel his loss every day and will miss arguing with him. He didn't just name me, his values have also shaped the person I am. Or at least I try to be. I will always keep trying to make you proud.

Many times in the last couple of months we have had to make difficult decisions regarding his health, I always found myself looking around the room to seek his guidance only to realise he isn't there.

I always joked that he is our Amitabh Bachchan from Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham and my dadi was Jaya Bachchan. Not just because of their height difference. He was our strength and she was our soul. He taught us all how to be strong, how to look after each other, and how to conduct ourselves with grace and dignity. 

He lived a complete life. He lived a good life. He lived an honorable life. He lived a decent life. Most importantly, he lived an honest life. As difficult as it might be, we have to let him go. Now we must lean on each other and make him proud.