Loosing a great man - Captain Sultan Singh Chauhan

This is not about Salzburg, this article is about the anguish of living abroad when you long to be back home. The past few days, I admit I have been drifting. Morning shifts to noon and noon to evening and then it's time to sleep. It's like I have truly gone into a time-lapse mode. Don't get me wrong, I am not depressed. I am just sad. I recently lost my dearest nanaji, he was a legend to put things in perspective. He was one man who did it all; was a soldier for our country, a social worker in our community, a true family man, and a true inspiration for anyone who knew him. There is not a single person who would not have praises for him or incidents to tell how he touched their lives. He imbibed goodwill and admiration. 

Captain Sultan Singh Chauhan

He died at the age of 92. We are so grateful to God that he had a full life. Over the past decade or so, things were very hard for him as he suffered from dementia (memory loss) and the last few years he was restricted to his bed. It's so strange that we mourn a person only after his death and not when things become so damn difficult for them. I cannot imagine how tough the last decade must have been for him when he was at a loss of words and remembered only his childhood memories which were again hard to articulate. Imagine seeing a greatly active person being bedridden and needing support for almost all his basic activities such as going to the loo or just turning in his bed. Thankfully he had his angels always around him who took good care and provided sufficient help in his hardships. I am not complaining, but he suffered quietly for us to feel his blessings by his presence. Maybe we were selfish in a way.

Nanaji, me and papa

 

We had a wonderful grandfather, 
One who never really grew old;
His smile was made of sunshine, 

And his heart was solid gold.

It was last Sunday when my mother broke the news to me, my first instinct was disbelief and then to comfort them and mourn with them. We cried a lot. I wept mostly for my grandmother's loss as I had lost him long back to Alzheimer's disease. She is the one whose life will be affected the most. She is such a strong lively woman herself and I pray and hope that God gives her the courage to cope, but soon my worry was that I might lose her too if she doesn't recover from this loss. Being so far from home becomes unexplainable in situations such as these. How much can one console their loved ones on the phone, how much do I wish I could hug her and all my family and just be there.

The memories that I had as a kid came rushing to me as I started going back to my routine. We were lucky to have him around when we were kids. My brother and I spent most of our summers and other school breaks in Dehradun in the comfort of our grandparent's home. Being punctual was just a part of him and we were always sure of meeting him early in the morning to receive us at the train station. We tagged along for almost all weddings and functions that they attended where we admired how people respected and greeted them almost so as if they were the chief guests. He would lovingly call my nanima Rani ki ma (Rani is my mom) and we would follow him to his study which was his sacred nest of so many neatly stacked notes and books. He would usher us out of that space and demanded not to be disturbed so we played in the gardens until he came out. I remember the countless tea servings during his political meetings on the porch. The walks we have taken with these two are filled with so many cherished learnings, memories that I will carry for life. It's funny how 14-15 people could fit into his ambassador car when it came to going for trips, there was always room. 

Nanaji showed us our roots and introduced us to our heritage. You see they were from the hills where customs are so different and make sense only when you live there or when someone takes the time to answer your silly queries. For instance, why do the old houses have tiny entrance doors into the house so tiny that even kids like us had to bend while entering? These were meant to protect the homeowners from invasion and intruders whose heads could be chopped off as they tried to enter the house. Why do we love to eat goat meat with rice? Because vegetables were not easily available in the hills and almost all villagers reared goats which became a delicacy associated with celebrations. They also built a small village called Basan near the banks of river Yamuna which was only accessible by foot for a very long time. The houses here were made with wood mostly and must have witnessed many feasts in those times. The mangoes and litchis were eaten straight from the bucket during summers which promoted family bonding and made us feel so safe and blessed.  

I still fondly remember one very cold winter day in the hills where we were bundled up in our blankets and demanded a story. He told us that one day he was on a hunt on a day such as this one and snow covered the mountains. While he climbed the mountains with his gun he realized he had left all his friends behind and was not on his usual path. When he felt he was being followed by someone closely, he turned to see a huge white bear right behind him. The bear roared and our nanaji stretched himself and roared loudly! All of us kids covered ourselves under the blankets to hide from this hungry big bear he had turned into. If he read this he would simply give me his famous mysterious smile and never tell if that really happened or not. I really believe that he must have met that bear and escaped or maybe killed him with his gun.

Thank you for being a part of me that nobody can take. Thank you for making me believe that you could kill the bear and live longer to tell us that story and be part of our lives for as long as you could...