Miss you, dad

I, too, was a kishmish

I, too, was a kishmish

Dear dad:

I am still sad that you’ve missed a lot of recent years. At least you were still there for so many of the early ones.

Remembering you at Father’s Day.

By the way, I just heard the story “about the time you fell off the donkey.” Sam Uncle likes that one. Nice to know you did stupid things, too, when you were 11.

Also, that’s a pretty soul patch.

Love,

Adam

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Miss you, pops

Those are some hiking shorts...

Those are some hiking shorts…

It’s been thirteen years today since Dad died. Can remember that day vividly.

Pain has faded, and, wow, how much has changed. Life has, despite the loss, turned out quite grand. Just wish he could share it now.

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Miss you, Dad

I must have been six or seven

I must have been six or seven

That’s my plastic dinosaur toy on his desk. His construction paper badge says, “Super Dad.”

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Miss you, Dad

Summer glacier is probably gone, too

Summer glacier is probably gone, too

Fourteen years ago today my father died in a car accident. Life has nonetheless been good to me; just wish I could share it with him.

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Best super swami there ever was

dad-super-swami
Father’s day and all. Miss you so much, dad.

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A day to remember family

Jadhav family over the years

Nine years ago today, Dad died in a car accident. I’ve obviously had a long time to grapple with that; life continues, some memories don’t fade, teachings and spirit live on, legacies remain.

But so does a bit of sadness. For catharsis, I turn to this photo of photos that tracks so much of the Indian side of my family. The collage was created for my grandparents in India; I digitized it when I stayed with them during my semester of backpacking around India in 2004.

Dadaji passed away in 2005; dadiji died in August. Since the photo was made an uncle also died (another passed away more than two decades ago).

The large-file, high-res version is linked above. Both grandparents, uncles, aunties, cousins, Dad, Mom, Anna and I all feature in different snaps and clicks, to use the Indian parlance.

This indeed is where one half of me originated.

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An old family photo, and an older family photo

My lineage, as far back as we have photos

My Indian lineage, as far back as we have photos

Five-and-a-half years ago, I took this photo of two photos. The mini-collage hung on the wall in my grandparents’ flat in Nigdi, Pune.

I had taken a semester off from school a second time to go back to India, for three weeks with Mom and Sis and an additional eight on my own. Much of that trip was spent wrestling with my father’s death a little more than a year before.

At the bottom of the cut-out photo, that’s a 10-year-old me, with Dad right above. And directly above 42-year-old him, in the black-and-white still, the boy with the hesitant look, that’s Dad again, also about age 10, with his parents, six brothers, one sister and a sister-in-law.

He died seven years ago today.

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