I woke up that morning in tears. A ward boy from the hospital had arrived at dawn, carrying the news of my father’s passing.
It was November 22, 1978.
Barely a few weeks had passed since Diwali—a festival we had celebrated with joy—and suddenly, everything came to a halt.
My father had never used to visit doctors. That was the only time he did… he never returned.
He had complained of chest pain the previous day, and we admitted him to the hospital. There was no sign that anything serious was about to happen.
He wasn’t even of an age where such a loss felt possible.
And yet, it happened.
I was just nine years old, but tragically, at that very age, I didn’t just lose my father—I lost my childhood as I grow up far too soon.
Responsibility cannot be imposed on someone.
It doesn’t come because someone explains it to you.
It arises quietly—from within.
Perhaps it needs introspection.
But more than that, it needs sensitivity & a true awareness of what’s happening around.
Only then does responsibility take root.
My mother became the sole earning member of our family.
Somewhere within me, a feeling began to grow—I felt uncomfortable asking her for anything. That discomfort slowly turned into responsibility.
I started earning at a very young age.
Education became secondary. Survival came first.
At that time, I never understood what was shaping me.
But today, when I look back, I realise—
the path had already been shown to me.
Not through words, but through life itself.
I don’t have many memories of my father.
Our house was always full of people, and my interactions with him were limited.
But the few moments I do remember… they are among the most valuable memories of my life.
And strangely, many of his qualities have become a part of me—without me ever consciously trying.
My father lost his own father when he was just eight.
At that age, he came to Mumbai in search of work.
He earned, and regularly sent money back to his mother in the village.
He worked relentlessly.
Over time, people began to call him “Sheth.”
From “Durgaji” to “Durga Sheth”—a journey built on effort, honesty, and self-respect.
He never cheated anyone.
He was always ready to help.
Humble—but firm when needed.
He wasn’t formally educated.
But he could read the Panchang (almanac) accurately and maintained records with precision—our dates of birth, even the exact time.
Even today, many educated people struggle with this.
But his records were always perfect.
He woke up during Brahma Muhurta (the auspicious pre-dawn hours).
Finished his routine early. Went to the temple.
Fasting was a part of his life.
His Ekadashi fasts were strict—no food the entire day.
He participated in religious processions with devotion.
He played an old styled drum called ‘Khalu’ in Marathi, —a percussion instrument that produced a rhythmic "dhakumakum, dhakumakum" sound with energy and joy.
He never raised his voice unnecessarily.
Handled situations with patience.
He did drink alcohol—but never lost himself in it.
And two years before his passing, he gave it up completely.
Once he decided, he never went back.
Most of what I know about him also comes from my mother.
How he came to Mumbai at so tender age & yet courageously built everything from scratch through sheer determination.
Every story she shared stayed somewhere within me.
And over time, without realising it, those stories began to shape how I responded to life.
When things didn’t work out, a task failed to yield the desired results or I faced repeated setbacks, I didn’t complain.
I simply tried again by redoubling my efforts to pursue what I wanted.
Because somewhere within me, I had already learned—
complaining doesn’t change anything.
He never looked down upon any work.
He wore his identity with pride.
And that stayed with me.
I have never felt ashamed of where I come from.
I proudly say—I belong to the Koli community.
I often tell people,
“You may have seen Spider-Man or Superman… but I am a Fisherman.”
Since my father had given up alcohol, I, too, have never touched alcohol or cigarettes—nor have I ever felt the need to do so.
Even when I served others, I stayed away—sometimes politely, sometimes firmly.
With a Shani temple next to our home, I developed the habit of prayer.
The same deity many fear—I learned to sit with.
Spirituality and discipline became a part of life.
Not forced. Just absorbed from my parents.
My father was meticulous in maintaining records; I have taken that legacy a step further, reaching the point where I now teach others the principles of time management.
Many of these things were never taught directly. They were simply lived around me.
There are habits I once wished I had—like waking up early at 4:30 in the morning. Yet, at the same time, I never struggled with working hard or putting in long hours.
I never felt the need to complain or seek rest as an escape.
Somewhere along the way, all of this became a part of me… unconsciously.
And today, when I reflect, I realise that what I once wished for has, in fact, been a part of my life since long.
When I look back now, I realise—
so much of what I became… happened unknowingly.
There were times I had complaints about my father.
But with age, those disappeared.
Understanding replaced them.
Every day, during my prayers, I would pray for his eternal peace and salvation.
And one day, a thought came—
Sometimes, without any reason, all of a sudden, we feel happy.
Sometimes, we feel sad.
Could it be that somewhere, someone connected to us in current or from the past life is thinking well or ill of us?
There is no proof of this.
But since that day, I have made it a practice to express gratitude to all my ancestors.
Two years ago, my mother passed away.
My last conversation with her was also on November 22—just days before she left.
With her passing, I truly felt orphaned.
But also… deeply grateful.
Because while my father inspired me,
it was my mother who shaped my life.
She never stopped working.
Never gave up.
It was because of her that we survived.
Today, as I prepared a Vadi (ritual meal) for my parents, a thought came to mind—
According to Hindu scriptures, the concept of reincarnation is real & if reincarnation is real…
perhaps this offering reaches them.
And as I serve this here,
maybe somewhere… someone is feeding them.
Mother, Father—
I am deeply grateful to you.
The scriptures teach that there is no escape from one's ‘Prarabdha’ (destiny) without enduring it; and to undergo this experience
—thereby liberating oneself from the bonds of past ‘Karma’—the physical body is indispensable.
And since I have received this body solely because of you, I am able to pursue that which I truly desire to accomplish.
I shall remain indebted to you for the entirety of my life. No matter what I do, I can never fully repay this debt.
I am deeply grateful to you—now and always!
Same Blog in Marathi - आई-वडीलांविषयी कृतज्ञता… आणि आयुष्यावर त्यांचा खोल प्रभाव>>>
-Shailesh Tandel
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