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When I think about my grandfather, I think about walking. I clearly remember him walking me through a leafy, suburban lane to kindergarten because both my parents were in the hospital the day my sister was born. I remember him walking me home from Jr. KG back when I lived in Mumbai when I was very, very young. I remember him visiting us in the U.S. and telling us that there was a community center within walking distance of our house. We only found out because he went exploring whenever he was in a new place. I remember him walking my family to the school where he was on the school board, despite being retired.

My mom and my uncle tried many times to get their parents to come live here in California, but both of them refused because it didn’t matter that they were getting older–they still had lives in Mumbai.

That image is of my grandpa meeting the president of India. It’s because of his volunteer work on the school board that he was able to do so. The picture so perfectly exemplifies him. He was always doing something. He played tennis right up until a few years ago. He was 85 years old, and he sent us eGreetings on our birthdays and Skyped with us.

And he always, always asked how my writing was going.

I miss you already, Ajoba.

R.I.P.

 

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