Never, Never, Never Give Up

Life never gave you the option to be weak or vulnerable, so you became the lion of our pack — standing tall with your two cubs, now grown into lionesses, walking beside you through the most challenging five years of your journey.

The day you returned from the States, we were overjoyed. Mummy was beyond happy, and the kids were thrilled to have their ever-positive, smiling grandfather back. None of us could have imagined that this homecoming would lead into the most testing phase of your life — and ours.

From the severe bout of Covid that kept you in the ICU for 15 days with no contact with us… to the knee replacement surgery in Ahmedabad that went wrong, followed by multiple operations and procedures to fight the stubborn infection in your leg. Then came the amputation, the gruelling rehabilitation, and your strength in learning to walk again with a prosthetic leg. Just when we thought the worst had passed, new battles began — lung infections, kidney complications, and finally, your heart, already weakened to 35%, gave way.

The cardiac arrest that followed pushed you into a deep coma, your life sustained only by machines. And then came the most agonizing decision of our lives — to let you go with dignity and peace, when all hope had faded and the doctors had declared there was nothing more they could do.

Despite everything you endured — the endless hospital visits, the countless medical interventions — you remained positive and hopeful. You kept waiting for the storm to pass, dreaming of the day you could finally start living life the way you wanted. But destiny, Papa, wasn’t as kind. In your heart, I think you knew that your final days had come, and yet you never, ever, ever gave up. To take you away, even God had to put you gently to sleep. Your courage, your endurance, and your love had no limits. If we can carry even a fraction of that within us, I know we will be able to navigate life with strength.

You doted endlessly on your grandchildren — and even on our fur baby, Storm. I often wonder now, Papa, who they will turn to for advice on their new startup ideas or share the news of the new relationships they get into. You always told them they could count on you for that, didn’t you?

You made friends everywhere you went, all nurses, brothers, hospital staff and the doctors were fond of you. I will always remember your enthusiasm for cricket, your love for food and how a simple cup of Americano could light up your day. Those little joys were enough to make you feel alive and content in the moment. And then there was your bond with Mummy — a love story that was nothing short of a dream. Love expressed through sacrifice, through resilience, through sharing even the last morsel of food. The most heart-breaking moment was when Mummy, with trembling hands and a shattered heart, touched you while you lay in a coma and gave you permission to go. That night, you left us.

Your favourite song, “Dil Mera Ek Aas Ka Panchi”, still echoes in the house you left behind, a house filled with your imprints everywhere we turn. Your BiPAP machine now lies silent. The little basket that once held your balms and precious little things is gathering dust. Your unfinished bottle of whiskey with barware, your reports, your prosthetic leg, the cupboard full of shorts and tees, your favourite jacket — all stand as reminders of you. Even the unopened iPhone you had waited for the “right time” to unbox sits untouched. Your pens etched with Virendra Kumar Mohatta, your laptops, your projector — everything carries your presence.

Papa, we don’t know how to let go, what to keep, what to remove, or how to continue living without you. We sometimes feel we did our best, but was it really enough? We don't know. 

I am sorry if I ever let you down, Papa. I love you more than words can ever say, and I want you to know you were never a trouble — caring for you was an opportunity, a blessing, our way of doing your seva as your daughters over the past five years. We fought fiercely to keep you alive — memorising every medical parameter, questioning every procedure, checking and rechecking with the hope of winning this battle. But even warriors sometimes lose to fate.

Still, you will live on in us always. Our bond is not confined to the limits of physical existence. You are, and will forever be, our Papa. We will continue to love you, to speak to you, to share each phase of our lives with you as if you were right beside us. We will watch Anand and smile at your favourite dialogues, raise a toast to you when we drink, and remember you with every plate of puchkas and rasgullas. 

Will I ever truly overcome this loss? I don’t know. Can life ever feel normal again? I doubt it. But I do know I have a choice — to sink into depression or to choose, as you always did, to live life through the small windows of optimism in the present moment and some fond memories of the past, of you. And if I can learn to do that, Papa, then a part of you will always live through me.

जय श्री कृष्णा Papa... Aati hoon...

||श्री कृष्ण शरणम् ममः||