A daughter’s last goodbye to her Babaji

Visiting an old age home on a special occasion has been a practice instilled in me by my mother ever since I was a teenager. She insisted that any joyous occasion must be celebrated with members of the nearby old age home first, before celebrating it with friends.

It was during one of my birthday visits that I met Babaji in the old age home. A tall and a fit gentleman, wearing a crisp, white cotton kurta-pyjama with a flowing white beard and a neat turban, he stood with folded hands when I met him for the first time.

Since I was a regular, my eyes never missed out a new face. But his face couldn’t have been missed because he looked a misfit for that place. Surprised with his presence, I humbly asked him where was he was from. I put forward the query reluctantly because asking residents of an old age home such a question can be hurtful.

The sombre-looking elderly friends of mine living their last years in the dull dormitories have often shared stories of abandonment by their kith and kin, especially male heirs. However, Babaji’s story stood apart as he decided to come and live in the old age home on his own. A landlord from Sirhind, with acres of property and enough sons to fight over the inheritance, he decided to live the rest of his years in an old age home.

His presence suddenly made my visits more communicative. I never asked him his name and he never asked me mine. I would call him Babaji, a common salutation for a paternal figure, and he would call me “meri dhee (my daughter)”.

As our interactions grew, I found Babaji was a man of great honour and pride. He would donate an equal amount to the local gurdwara for every little donation given to him by me. “Fathers don’t take gifts from daughters,” he would say.

During our conversations, I would often ask him if anyone from his family had come to ask about his well being. Sadly, there was never even a phone call from his sons or their families.

It was during my last visit to the old age home when I went to distribute sweets after the birth of my daughter that I saw Babaji’s earmarked bed without a mattress. Soon enough my fears were confirmed. “He passed away a month ago. He was such a saintly man. He died without any discomfort,” said the attendant when I enquired about Babaji.

“Did his family come finally,” I asked. “Yes, his sons came to take the body. A legal certificate holds a lot of importance after all,” replied the attendant.

With lament in my heart, I continued distributing sweets to others; some of them consoled me saying that he is finally home, where he would be treated well. Just when I was about to leave, I saw another new face. As I offered the sweets to the old woman, she said, “May you be blessed with a son next time.”

I left without a comment. As my last goodbye to Babaji, I went to the local gurdwara to donate his share of charity. I don’t know whether his sons did the needful regarding his last rites but since he called me his daughter, I couldn’t stop myself from doing it.

SOME OF THEM CONSOLED ME SAYING THAT HE IS FINALLY HOME, WHERE HE WILL BE TREATED WELL