Abba was not only my father, he was my friend, my mentor, my guru. In the last few months of his illness, as he lay in the ICU with tubes down his stomach, throat and neck, he could not speak and yet we managed to communicate. He would raise his eyebrow, squeeze my hand, indicate with his eyes and I would understand. In the same way that I understand what our granddaughter Shakya wants, although she is not yet able to speak. Abba, in any case, was given to long silences. He spoke both through his words and through his silences.

He fell silent much before the tubes were physically put into him. The Gujarat carnage shattered him. I would watch him as he looked at the television coverage, face frozen in pain. Tears streaming down my eyes, I asked, ‘Don’t you feel frustrated and defeated as you see the mindless killing, the hateful revenge, man killing man in the name of religion?’ He wiped my tears and said quietly, ‘The riots are not spontaneous, they have been engineered for narrow political gain. The common man craves roti, kapda aur makaan irrespective of the faith he follows. This madness will pass.’

It was his faith, his belief in the innate goodness of man that kept him going through the darkest of times. I am trying hard to keep my faith in his faith.

Pyaar ka jashn nai tarah manaanaa hogaa

Gham kisi dil mein sahi ġham ko mitaanaa hogaa

In the effort of wiping the tears of the victims of the Gujarat carnage and thousands of others who have fallen prey to communal riots, in wiping the tears of slum dwellers constantly displaced by mindless government policies, in wiping the tears of all marginalized sections of society, particularly women, can I pay tribute to my father, a giant amongst men?

Koi to sood chukaye koi to zimma ley

Uss inquilab ka jo aaj tak udhaar sa hai

You envelope me like the air I breathe, Abba. I promise to turn my personal loss into an armour like you had always done, and carry on with the work you left behind. You are watching over us, aren’t you?

A decade and a half later . . .

Fifteen years later I am returning from Mijwan with Namrata by my side and a whole host of her young friends from Mumbai who have been actively involved with the Mijwan Welfare Society for the last ten years.

The tiny village that didn’t even exist on the map of India is now a global name ever since the leading Bollywood couturier Manish Malhotra started getting chikankari (a delicate hand embroidery that is the pride of Awadh) crafted by the women of Mijwan. All leading Hindi film stars from Shah Rukh Khan to Deepika Padukone have been show-stoppers at the annual Mijwan fashion shows. Ranbir Kapoor is our goodwill ambassador. Mijwan is now a brand that shines in golden letters.