It was an ordinary wooden box, disintegrated from one side but it had all the magic for me. It was my Grandfather’s legacy to me; Scrabble. It’s what he taught me and I learnt how to make words,and to make sentences and then he helped me with how to use them .As , I was growing up , he would walk with me  in the evening when he would come to visit us from one of his world tours ,trying to make agriculture a viable option for the world farmers . Nanaji , would give me an alphabet and would tell me that they had to longer than three, then five words and so forth . My love affair with words started .
It’s been a life long and I am mid way in mine and I don’t think I would triple it ! But words and his presence has made my life what it is. It’s been two years since he went away and I still haven’t come to terms with him going away . I don’t go and visit the memories ever . It’s too painful to even open that box and to come to terms with him not being a phone call away . Even now , I want to pick up the phone and discuss the Iran -US tensions , the repercussions of the CAA and NRC and the one that we don’t act upon , climate change .i stopped being crazy ver cricket matches ,my shouting or insane drivel .He was my sanity , The one who loved me unconditionally without any precondition , without any demands . It’s the security and the love that they shower upon you is what you miss as suddenly the rug is pulled under your feet and you are left unprotected .Everyone will have some demand , some box that you didn’t tick , and some box that you’d didn’t fit , he was the only one who thought I was fine as I was.
 In his silent way he gave me the love for history books , the power of the written word, ethics and the values of life , and why taking a higher ground is better . I miss the conversations on politics and his amazing memory from where he could cull facts , and figures and his mathematical ability to calculate in any unit .
A stickler for punctuality , for being on time and following principles and sticking to them , revolutionising a whole generation of farmers and forever trying to make Punjab a better place. The zeal of Punjab and Punjabiat and the silent knowledge of Gurbani and what it meant to be a Sikh. His intelligence, knowledge was beyond measure and I feel honoured to have seen glimpses of his vastness , his intellgisia but what I wish to capture once more is to just talk to him and hug him and embrace him as the greatest loss is of mine . Death is not the greatest loss of life , the greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live .
How do you function ? How do you carry on ? Time doesn’t heal ,it keeps the hurt alive , its been two years. A severe winter is upon us and all he would have talked about would have been temperature and the repercussions on the farm cycle in the long run and how we are headed to an ice age as earth was spinning slower . Love a little longer , love a little harder , call your grandparents , theyre waiting for that bell and give a hug often . This embrace is the truest of all .