Life is so fragile. One minute you’re in your car, thinking about the day you’ve had, about the thing you’ll do when you get home; maybe you’ll go for a swim, that will be so refreshing. Or maybe you’ll take the little one on a bike ride to the park–he would surely enjoy that. Take the dog for a walk, he sure has put on a lot of weight lately. He needs a bath, too. The car needs an oil change, better take care of that soo–and bam. You didn’t see it coming from the side but by the time you did it was too late. And just like that, you’re gone. Finished.

How do you reconcile with the fact that you could be gone at any second? Tell your kids you love them. Tell your wife you’re happy with your life. Put the shit going on at your work aside for a few minutes, turn off the TV and talk to your kids. As much as they annoy you some times, they’re your family–don’t go to bed angry. You may not get the chance to make it up to them tomorrow.

After the childish stuff came the scary stuff: What if he hates me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Those pretty much stayed with me throughout the pregnancy–come to think of it, they still get me. And the pregnancy–oh, the pregnancy. Talk about a life changing event. Amber handled it like a champ–she actually went to work till the day Jack was born, but the nesting phase was tough. Child proofing the house and making the nursery took up pretty much every free moment. I somehow got this ridiculous idea that I was going to build the nursery “with my bare hands”. So I laid down bamboo floors, rewired the electric, installed a fan that could handle over 100 lbs swinging from it (hey, you never know)–hell I even replaced the door hinges. All with the hope that somehow working on all this will make me feel closer to being a dad. With moms, the bond is automatic–the child is a part of their body. But it’s not the same for the dad. All that got me excited about being a dad, but I still felt scared that I was going to screw it up, and it got worse the closer we got to the delivery date.

And then the time came. 1 AM, two weeks before the estimated delivery date. Cold winter night. Heavy rain. Lightning. The whole nine yards. The bag was ready and sitting by the door. The car had a full tank of gas (even though the hospital was just 5 miles away). Labor. Delivery. Out comes the baby, and let me tell you, “the miracle of childbirth” is not just a dumb cliché. The tiny little thing, wrinkled and cold. I cut his umbilical cord. He cried. He cried while they cleaned him up, but when I walked up to him and talked to him, he reached up and grabbed my finger–and stopped crying. 2 minutes old and the kid recognized his old man. Not only that, he was comforted by me. I’ll never forget it, it felt like my heart would burst.

Having a baby changes everything. Everything.

My grand father, or Dadaji as we called him, passed away a few hours ago at the ripe old age of 91. That’s him with Jack back in 2008. It’s hard to articulate how I feel right now. I lived with him till I was 13, and even though my parents were there too, I identified with him much more than with them–probably the reason why I am much more like him than like my father.

Dadaji was the first person in his family to get a college education, even though it meant moving out of his parents house when he was 13 and moving in with relatives far away. He got a Bachelor’s degree on scholarships, and when he finished he got a job in the Agriculture and Co-op Department of Gujarat. He worked there his whole life, raising five children in a one-bedroom rented condo pinching pennies, and ensured that all five of his children earned college degrees.

He was a great man. I don’t think I’ve ever looked up to anyone more. Every belief I hold at the core of my being is one I learned from him. He taught me to never take anything for granted, because what you have today could very easily be gone tomorrow. I am thankful for the happenstance that made me a part of his family. I am thankful for the way the stars aligned that gave me so much time with him. I am thankful that my son got to meet him. I am thankful that he’s in a better place.

Since I can’t articulate it, here’s Pearl Jam. Rest in peace, Dadaji.

Raju look-alike | Photo Credit imaging furballs

I have always loved dogs. Growing up, my parents didn’t allow me to have pets, but stray dogs are pretty common In India, so I just “adopted” a bunch of them. I gave them names, played with them, and made sure they were fed every day. The dogs there are a much more wild than the domesticated dogs we’re used to and you don’t usually associate with strays, much less bring them in your house. I was particularly fond of one of the dogs, Raju. He was the alpha dog of the neighborhood, and he was fiercely protective of me. He had nothing but tail wags for me, and I absolutely loved the big guy. Then one day he got sick and started acting strange–and everyone knows when a dog starts acting that way it has rabies. All rabid dogs want to do is bite you and then you have to get 13 shots -this- big, directly in your belly button… because, you know, that’s what happens.

The last time I saw Raju, he was limping in the street, looking exhausted and hungry. He saw me from the corner of his eye, turned around and started running towards me. I freaked out, ran into the house and closed the door, and never saw him again. He likely died soon after, alone in a street corner somewhere. I was 10. 18 years later, I feel the same guilt I did that day. He was my friend and I abandoned him when he needed me most.

Over the years, we’ve taken in lots of other animals. Our pack currently has three dogs, two cats and a lizard. We’re the house in our neighborhood that all the stray cats and squirrels and birds come to because they know they’ll find food. We’ve gone out of our way to make sure our home is one where all critters are welcome–big or small, healthy or sick. I enjoy every minute of it and would not have it any other way, though a part of me feels that maybe if I keep doing this, that some day I won’t feel as bad about what happened with Raju, but I don’t think things work like that. I don’t think the guilt of what happened with Raju is ever going to go away, but the least I can do is make sure my kid doesn’t have a regret like that.