I miss you.

My Granddad.
My favorite person in the world.

I used to call him "Dadaji" (Hindi for Granddad). On 7th November last year, he left us for his heavenly abode. Not only do I miss him, but also wonder if he remembers me wherever he is.

I have friends who never saw their grand parents. Their knowledge about their grandparents is derived from other people's memories and family albums. I am really thankful to God for blessing me with a life wherein I had the good fortune of being doted upon by my grand parents. To me, its a very big thing.

As I think about him today, some childhood memories flash in front of my eyes. Those lazy summer evenings when I used to pester him to tell me stories, those trips to the fruit stall to buy mangoes, those little things he would buy for me every time he stepped out of the house, those scooter rides to his office, those cricket matches which he always let me win, those coins that he always gave me to buy candies, those evening walks in the Kolkata monsoons, those little pearls of wisdom he gave me when I did something wrong, those magic tricks that he never failed to amaze me with, those plants in his garden that he watered everyday, those ...

Dadaji, you are my hero. If I end up achieving even one-tenth of what you did, I am sure my grandchildren will be as proud of me, as I am of you.