Last week I saw my grandfather more often in my dreams. Don’t know if his soul wants to tell me something. But yes it reminded me some of the times we spent together. These dreams reminded me of going with him to Ambiwala Gurudwara in our town when I was little. Sunday morning we use to walk by the streets where people from their small houses use to look at us. And why not? he had a great personality, a spiritual outlook. He use to wear ethnic clothing which included white bright kurta and pajama, and royal blue turban. He was a baptized sikh so he wore kirpan (small dagger). He was so old but was so energetic and engaged himself in some work at all time like reading religious books, meeting people he knew, walking and telling stories. He was a storyteller. He had some or the other story from the past to tell, perfect for the present moment.
In his last time, I was not around. I was in my second semester of my engineering at Delhi. It was very hard. Being emotionally attached to him. The moments we lived together came to my mind spontaneously and it brought tears to my eyes. It was all along my walk to the nearest Tilak Nagar metro station and then in metro train to Kashmiri Gate metro station, I was sobbing. In the evening, I met him but he was not there to extend his arms to give me a hug as he usually did when I came home but lying motionless on the ground with beautiful white new clothes and perfectly tied white turban. His face was glowing despite of the fact that he was dead. That was the last time I saw him physically.
Today I remember those times when he was around to tell me stories of his native Kashmiri village or stories from our Sikh Gurus’ life or some stories with some wits and message in it. Those were the best days!