I helped my mom write this eulogy for my maternal grandpa(nana).
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Good afternoon and Namaste everyone!
It is extremely difficult to speak about one’s father after his demise because for most kids the experience of having him around is one taken for granted. We never imagined what it would be like without him. At least that was the case for the late Satyadeo Maharaj and me.
Late!, it’s not a prefix he would have liked to hear.
Papa was a very punctual man. In fact, the proper way to remember him would be the never Late Mr Satyadeo Maharaj.
He always dedicated himself to the work he undertook. He used to love his banking job. Such was his dedication to work that during his tenure at Siwan, the Bank of India branch came to be known as Maharaj Ji Ka Bank. He was selfless and giving, an Institution of humanity bound by nothing but society and time.
Some incidents stand out. Once my son forgot to pay off a Rikshawala, so papa personally went and donated the same amount at a Mandir.
Gandhiji once said, “My life is my message”. The same could be said about Papa. There was not one moment from his life that one could not glean from. There was not a single vice that you would associate with this man. Ever punctual he would wake up at 4 a.m. and immerse himself in his recital of various scriptures and mantras. He would wake us up as well, much to our annoyance so that we could revise our lessons. Studies and character building were something he stressed upon.
Even in those days he knew how important it was that his 6 daughters be self-dependent. It should not be taken for granted that it was his and my mothers progressive ideas that has formed the cornerstone of this family. He was the first feminist in my life.
I know my sisters are here and are watching me, but I won’t hesitate to say that he was extremely proud of his eldest born. He was profoundly happy when I started working and even sadder when I quit. His elation was boundless when I later took up a job at an NGO where I could mirror his selflessness into my work.
He would insist on showing me off. He would often ask our relatives and his colleagues to test my mathematical abilities, “ Baby se puchhiye, woh solve kar legi.” He believed in me with no doubts or scepticism.
Once during his last days, when he could barely speak or see, he was complaining about a hip-ache. Aadhi behoshi mein hi maa ko bolei — “ baby se boliye, dawa le aayegi”. Unko bharosa tha ki meri behenein aur mai shaayad unka cancer bhi theek kara denge. Sorry papa- vo humse nahi ho paaya.
Initially I said that it is incredibly difficult to speak about one’s father. Truth be told, there was nobody quite like him, and it is only sad that we will never see his like again.