Tribute, Late and Insufficient

I am late, very late indeed in paying this tribute. It is about Mr Ziauddin Ahmed, my grandfather. If I start by his achievements, I would stop never. So, I better tell about his love for me.

At the age of 4, I left home with him for a 15 days trip, never missing my mother which was apt for any boy.

On his deathbed, he was telling me how important it is to get educated. Indeed for someone, who lost his father at the age of 3, he couldn't complete his formal education. But in my 30 years, I have seen very few, if not none, who can compete with his knowledge. He once told me that, he used to read from 10 pm to 3 am every night after handling his business day long. Finishing and recording 10 books in his mind tells all what kind of a thirst for knowledge he had.

I attended school very late for he believed he can teach better than those teachers. My academic records, if you have seen it, may certify his confidence was justified. It was him, with his unending dedication to education, told me to appear for my MBA interviews properly.

So many love stories end with death. I lost him when I was 24 and now I am 30. Never during my failures, my dark days, days when I feel I am living for no purpose, he fails to visit my dreams and tell me what to do, which direction to move.

I remember, when I passed my MBA from a reputed institute, few days later, he came in my dreams and said, I am so happy, but its time to go for PhD. I never went, I know my limited qualities and I am ashamed to meet him, even in my dreams. How I wish he was here, giving me confidence of doing the undo-able, like he did during the MBA entrance exam. I have lost my force, my way, my direction and my guide.

Now when my marriage is a failure and both of us considering divorce, when I am probably on the verge of losing my job, he just visited me today. He was sending me off to England, for three years, and hugged and cried, saying, what if I don't live enough, what if I die before you return, this might be our last meeting. And I was crying hugging him. Even death couldn't stop him from taking my care.

I am Indian, and I don't want to pretend to be something else, I don't believe in wearing the Peacock feathers to be a feather. If I am a crow, I am proudly so. Telling this because, once my grandfather, who never attended high school, pointed out 16 grammatical mistakes in a single leave application. The applicant was a girl with her master degree in English.