When I used to return to my parents’ home, I would always find my father, Nana, either sitting or lying on the veranda sofa, patiently waiting for our arrival.
The moment he saw us, he would get up, open the gate and lovingly carry my baby daughters into the house.
With him, the house was never silent. His voice carried through every room, calling, laughing, reminding, filling the space with life.
Nana expressed love in simple, meaningful ways. He believed in eating together, and no one was allowed to sit out of a meal. He would call our names until we gathered at the table. Even as adults, he would feed each of us a mouthful before starting his own meal. His familiar advice stayed with us, “Don’t go to bed hungry, no matter how you feel.”
He also found joy in nurturing life. His garden was his pride, and visitors rarely left without something freshly picked to take home. Giving brought him immense happiness, and he carried that spirit with him throughout his life.
Nana was a true social butterfly who could effortlessly strike up a friendship with anyone. His humour kept those around him uplifted and smiling.
The memories I treasure most are not grand milestones, but the simple, everyday moments such as shared meals, conversations on the veranda and the quiet assurance that he was always there.
His presence made our home feel complete. I am deeply grateful for the time we shared, especially the years we spent travelling together, creating memories that now have become even more meaningful with time.
Nana lived a life defined by perseverance and quiet sacrifice. He and my mother worked tirelessly to provide for us, ensuring we were cared for despite life’s challenges.
Among all priorities, education remained central. They believed it could transform our future,
and they made sure we had that opportunity.
I remember him sending us to school on his bike, rain or shine, always prepared to shield us from the weather.
If we stayed late for activities, he would make trips just to bring us food. Having known hardship himself, he ensured we would never go hungry. As a father, he balanced discipline with care; firm about education and manners, yet always deeply attentive to our needs.
The word “Nana” isn’t just a word; it means protection, strength, guidance and unconditional love.
When we discovered his heart condition, we held on to hope. Surgery was highly recommended, and we believed it would give us more time together.
But what we thought would be a hopeful beginning slowly became a difficult journey.
Complications followed, and despite the doctors’ efforts, his condition worsened day by day.
Even in the hospital, when he was tired and weak, his concern for us and his plants never faded.
Every year on Fathers Day, no matter where we were, we made it a point to wish him.
Whether in person or through a simple phone call, we always reached out, and he would answer in his warm, cheerful voice.
However, last year’s Fathers Day on June 15 was different. Since he was still at the hospital, we gathered by his bedside and wished him, “Happy Fathers Day, Nana.”
Little did we know it would be the last Fathers Day we would celebrate with him.
On June 25, when I was told his condition had worsened, I broke down. I struggled to hold back my tears.
At that moment, he opened his eyes and saw me crying. I leaned closer and said softly, “Nana, be strong. We are waiting for you.”
He looked at me and replied, “Okay, maa.” Those were the last words I heard from him.
We prayed, we hoped, and we held on with everything we had.
But some moments are
beyond our control. No amount of money, medical treatment or prayers can defeat fate.
On July 7, I never imagined that I would stand there to witness Nana’s final moment. He took his last breath before our eyes.
We stood around him, helpless, offering our final prayers and wishing him Atma Shanti (peace of the soul), sending his soul off peacefully and praying for liberation, even though we could not accept his departure.
Nana came into this world with a purpose, and he fulfilled it through love, sacrifice and quiet strength. He left behind countless memories that continue to live within us.
We are deeply proud to be his children. If there is a rebirth, I would still choose to be born as his daughter.
He once got me my birth certificate, but never would I imagine that I would one day receive his death certificate.
That moment taught me the depth of loss and how memories become what we hold on to forever.
Today, that same home feels different. The silence is heavy, and his absence is felt in every corner.
Nana may no longer be sitting on that veranda sofa waiting for us, but in many ways, he never left.
He lives in the values he taught us, the love he gave us, and the lives we live today because of him. The word “Nana” is no longer something I call out; it is something I carry within me.
