I bow my head in front of you, my Grandfather, mere Dadaji.

You left us on 28th January 2016. I was too young to understand what death in a family truly meant. I might sound naive, but that was my reality. Dadaji, you walk with me always, in my thoughts, in my prayers, and in the deepest corners of my heart. Even today, as I write this, I can feel your presence, as if you are reading over my shoulder, smiling gently, blessing me silently.

Back then, I didn’t get enough time with you. It was never enough. I remember you always asking for my address, and I used to wonder—why does Dadaji keep asking me this simple question? But now, I understand. You weren’t asking for my home; you were waiting for the day I would realize that my true address was always in your heart. That’s where I have always belonged.

Dadaji, I feel so unlucky. I can barely remember your voice, but your face—it’s etched in my soul. I see you in your crisp Khadi kurta, standing tall. Holding my tiny fingers, guiding me to school—even though that never happened. It’s a moment I wish had been real. I wish I had more time, more memories, more love shared between us. One day, we will meet again, and I will make up for all the lost moments.

Today, as I write, my Tears well up. Sorry, Dadaji. Sorry for not being there when you needed me most. Sorry for not doing anything for you. Sorry for not speaking of you as often as I should have. But I promise you this—I will make sure the world remembers you. Your grandson will carry your name in every thought, in every word, in every dream. I promise, Dadaji. Dadaji, I have spent years searching for your warmth in the world, but nothing, no hug, no touch, no words have ever come close to the love I lost when you left.

Whenever I ask Papa about you, he always says, “Your Dadaji was a man of principles, an open-minded soul, a leader in the house. When he spoke, everyone listened. When he commanded, people obeyed.” Maybe that’s why God called you early—perhaps He needed someone as strong and noble as you to stand against the evil of the heavens.

I wonder, do you miss me too? Do you look down upon me, whispering my name in the winds that brush my cheeks? Do you hear me when I cry, aching for a hug I never got enough of? Every festival, every birthday, every milestone feels incomplete without you. I wait at the doorstep, hoping that somehow, miraculously, you will walk through it one more time, smiling, arms open, calling my name. But it never happens. It never will.

I see little children walking hand in hand with their grandparents, laughter filling the air, innocence twinkling in their eyes, and I find myself searching for a similar memory. But I find none. I see grandfathers carrying their grandchildren on their backs, treating them with sweets, showering them with love. I smile. I smile, but inside, my heart shivers. Dadaji, you were supposed to be that for me. Why did destiny keep us apart? God knows I have always been thirsty for love, yet He serves it to me at the very end. Maybe I am like you, Dadaji.

I keep our memories alive in my heart, afraid that if I stop thinking of you, I will lose you completely. But I can never let you go, Dadaji. You are a part of me. You live within me.

You were tall; I am tall. You held your hands behind your back; I do the same. You loved mangoes; I love mangoes too. You were the lighthouse of our home, and I am the ship searching for that very light to guide my way. If you were here today, you would have been my first reader, my first listener, my first Known Ignotus. You would have saved me from my parents’ scolding, guided me through my mistakes, and perhaps, we would have talked about my love life. But I missed all of it. I still miss you. I missed you.

One day, you handed me a ten-rupee note. Maa told me to return it, but I held onto it tightly. Today, those ten rupees are my most treasured inheritance from you. More valuable than anything else I could ever own. After Myself.

Dadaji, the world might see you as a man of flaws, but to me, you were perfect. The day you left, I saw Papa crying. I wiped his tears with my small hands, but that night, I looked up at the sky and saw a new star shining the brightest. It was you, wasn’t it? You became my guiding light, watching over me, protecting me from afar.

Even now, I talk to you. I whisper my dreams, my worries, my secrets, hoping that somehow, my words reach you beyond the stars. I am you, Dadaji. And I pray—if there is any way, any miracle, any twist of fate that could let me meet you again, I would run into your arms, climb onto your back, and eat ice cream on our way home from school. I would let you praise my work, listen to my words, and watch me shine in this world. You were waiting for me to grow up and make you proud. Now, I wait for you—for my second chance to meet you again.

This time, I will hold you so tightly that not even the air could create a separation between us. I will buy you everything you ever wanted, ride on your shoulders, and pour my heart into every conversation. I am kissing your resting place(Burial), hoping it reaches your soul. Dadaji, I am sorry. Sorry for the very little time we had. Sorry for not growing up sooner. Sorry for not being there when you needed your Abhi the most.

For My First Known Ignotus,

Late Shri Shiv Mangal Singh.