My Thatha Was 83 and Never Asked Anyone for Help. Not Even for Walking. I Want to Tell You About Him.

I remember when I was a child and got fever. My parents left me at my grandma's house. My grandpa and grandma took care of me every single minute. The fever went down within half a day. I don't know if it was the medicine or just being with them. Probably just being with them.

During trips my grandma used to buy things for my younger sister even when she was not traveling with us. They thought of us even when we were not there. That is the kind of people they were.

Every Diwali we would all go to their house. My thatha used to buy 10 to 20 boxes of crackers — keeping all of us cousins in mind. All of us together, all because of them. Whatever closeness I have with my cousins started at their house. Every festival, every gathering, every meal together — it all started with them.

My thatha was a headmaster in the 60s. He received awards from prominent leaders. He taught us to be calm, to respect people, to love family. But he never taught these things by saying them. He taught them by being them.

His happiness when all of us cousins sat together to eat — I cannot explain that properly. His whole face would change. Like that was the only thing he needed to be completely happy.

I remember one time I told him I had traveled alone by train from my place to visit him. He smiled at me and said — you are growing up like a boy, being independent, and that is good. That one sentence. I still carry it. Whenever I have to make a decision alone I think of that sentence.

He was 83 years old and never asked anyone for help. Not even for walking. He would just get up and go. Strong man.

There was a situation where some grandchildren did not invite him to their wedding. He did not sit at home feeling hurt. He took the whole family and went. Because he considered them his own children even when they forgot that. Even when people made mistakes he never pushed them away. He would just quietly try to make them understand.

He never lied. Not once in his whole life. And until his last breath he never wanted to depend on anyone for anything.

His name was Easwaran. Now he is late Easwaran. But for us who knew him he is still very much present — in the way we sit together at festivals, in the way we think about family, in the way I try to be independent and not ask for help when I can manage.

I want to live my life in a way that someone will remember me the way I remember him.