Happy Birthday, Manhar Dada.
If you were still on this Earth, you’d be eighty years old. I’d love to be celebrating with you today. I’ll think of you in Physics lecture today. I promise not to skip class like I usually do. I’m sorry if that offended you while you’ve been watching me. (It’s just that I’ve never had a Physics teacher as good as you.)
You’re still with us every day. In our inside jokes, in our dreams, in our worldview. I think of you whenever I have to remember “It will be okay”, whenever I play the piano, (and whenever I drink red wine). I can distinctly hear you saying “My granddaughter” in such a grand voice that made the title feel like such a special thing. I am honored to be your granddaughter. I know you will be with me celebrating the “auspicious occasion” of my graduation, just like you wanted to, because the memory of you is so strong.
I smile when I remember your smile, and your laugh, and your praise. I smile because I don’t want to remember you in sadness, but only in happiness as you always were.
So, Happy Birthday, Dada. I love you.
Read the introductory blog post here!