Some dreams are sewn into our very existence much earlier than we know that they even exist. My own was sown by my Nanaji—my maternal grandfather, a man whose spirit still directs me, even though he’s departed from us.
He wasn’t popular, or affluent, or boisterous. He was a school teacher in a small Indian town, a man who did more than was required to believe in good intentions and education; he embodied them in fact.
He was hopelessly earthy, the sort who would make you think the world was coming to an end, and yet he’d still smile and give away mangoes from the tree in his backyard.
He wasn’t only my grandfather—he was the most hospitable, warm, and unassumingly inspiring man I’ve ever met.
It was enjoyable when I was growing up and visited his house. He’d bring chalk from school along and draw with us, read us until we dozed off, and remind us time and again that he wanted one of our family members to be a judge.
It was his aspiration, and he’d whisper to us but so emphatically that it sat in the recesses of my mind like the sun on wood furniture.
But I didn’t mind then. I was just a child, bewildered that I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I dropped PCM, did humanities, changed direction like a traveler altering route in a storm. And the pandemic came and took him.
Gone without any goodbye.
It did not hit me as much as it did when he was gone forever. I went back to law school—without even realizing why.
It was a spontaneous action, I believed, but now I realize: it was him. His dream. His voice. His hope. Deep within, his faith in me had become my own in return.
Now, when I take my seat to read the Constitution, or ruminate on justice, my mind turns first to him—not as memory, but as mentor. My parents explain that they are proud of the way I have dedicated myself to this journey.
I am, too. But more, I believe that I am finally living the dream spoken over summer afternoons and chalk portraits by my Nanaji.
He never ever got to see me put on a black coat. He never ever got to see me debate in a mock trial. But I hope wherever he is, he gets to see the girl who sat on his lap become the woman that he always knew that she could be.
My dream is owed to my grandfather.
Not because he rammed it down my throat—but because he instilled it in me with love, and had faith in me to find it when the moment was apt.
Last Updated on by Sathi