Namaste Ji, Nana

I call him Nana, the Hindi term for your mother's father. 

        As a grandfather, my Nana excels in every way. Since the moment I was born, he loved me more than anything. His favorite story to tell people? The time I leapt from my grandmother's arms into his as soon as I saw him. He likes to think I 'chose' him, and sometimes I indulge him and sometimes I just roll my eyes.

        Growing up, I would go to their house every few months and my sister and I would spend a few nights under their unconditional care. I remember playing SO MUCH hide-and-seek, with my favorite hiding spot being Nana's closet, buried behind his collection of shirts. Fast-forward a few years, and we were playing Tea Party. I'd set up invitations and have him and my Kaki wear their best outfits and perfumes, insisting that they eat my questionbly made cucumber sandwiches in their upstairs living room, which I'd deemed my ballroom. Every time,  Nana would play classical Hindi music and go into depth about the culture behind it.

        See, my grandfather was a Hindi teacher for over forty years, and one might say it's his whole personality. His passion for the language and Indian culture is unparalled, and nobody can start a conversation with him without his career coming up in some form or fashion. Every time I'm at Nana and Kaki's house or they're at mine, he taps my hand, smiles, and beautifully walks me through an explanation of the intricate ornamentation of the Taj Mahal or the reason why Hindus put food out as an offering to God. It was because of this that, starting 5th grade and continuing through middle school, I would video call him and he would give me Hindi lessons. We walked through conjugations, vocabulary, and tenses, all while he not-so-subtely bragged about his time teaching and his glory as a Hindi educator. He loves to launch into these stories about the students he helped, the recommendations he wrote, the silly anecdotes from his classroom. For instance, one of his students once discreetly taped a sign on his back that read "Namaste Ji, Kick Me." He pretended to be furious to scare the class, and once they were all thoroughly apologetic, he laughed and explained that he was just getting back at them. 

        I know in my heart that his students must have loved him so much. As a teacher, he has the devotion and and love needed to make a real impact on young people. I know that beause I've experienced it. To me, he's always been my mentor, but even more than that he's always been my best friend. From him, I've learned that passion in everything, that dedication is a game-changer, and that love is what keeps everything in focus. These lessons, I will never forget.

Thank you, Nana. I love you.