Om. Two days ago, my dad lost his eldest brother – my Badepapa – to COVID, in India. I want to share my stories of one of the kindest and happiest people I was blessed to be loved by – someone that loved despite suffering an extraordinary allotment of life’s pain.
Badepapa literally means elder father. He was this. Growing up, our family could only visit India every 3 or 4 years, during summer break-which for Mumbai was monsoon season. In those months, we were inseparable from him and S3, the building in which he lived.
From my first trip as a toddler to our last full summer vacation in HS, Badepapa 1 and his son (our late Bhaiya) were 2 of the first faces we (jetlagged) would see at Chatrapati Shivaji airport. Instead of letting us fully touch his feet (pranaam), he would hug us tightly with the biggest grin on his face. Both Badepapa and Bhaiya would then try to match me and my brother (Bhaiyu)’s Americanized Hindi in their equally choppy English. And then, at 2am, they would carry our luggage and drive us home, with so much energy that the jetlag went away.
After meeting our grandparents, S3 was always our favorite visit on that first day. Bhaiyu and I would always sprint up the stairs in excitement and also out of fear of the stray dogs in the society, just to find out they were getting fed right at Badepapa’s door. Without fail, Badepapa would greet us again by treating us to the best fruit in the world, hapus aam (king mango), that he had made sure to order weeks in advance before the rainy season started. We would sit alti palti (legs crossed) while he hand peeled and fed us with joy.
Badepapa had a healthy belly, and when we were with him, we aspired to share his love for food. A staple of India was going to Inorbit mall with the entire Jajoo family (then, 12+ people) to feast on paneer pizza and big pitchers of his fav drink: masala lemonade. Another classic was the never-ending plates at Sudama, from masala papad to pav bhaji and ice cream. Each bite tasted better when you were called across the table to eat directly from his hands. With such love, Badepapa brought together not just our direct family, but everyone who knew him.
Outside of S3 and our cousins’ homes, Bhaiyu and I spent most of our time at GSC (goregaon sports club), a family tradition started by Badepapa since we were kids. When we were old enough to go alone, we never had to remember our membership numbers. Despite the 2-3 year intervals between our India visits, every GSC employee would recognize us as the Jajoo bacche (kids). If we went in the morning, we’d run into Badepapa swimming with friends.
After our badminton or tennis classes, he’d be there at GSC’s restaurant with a big smile, calling us over to introduce us as his American kids to everyone who’d listen. And of course, we’d feast with all of them again before likely spending the night at S3. At GSC, Badepapa was an elected board member and a pillar of its service, sports, and cultural communities.
In Bangur Nagar (our neighborhood in Mumbai), he was the community itself. Every watchman and shop owner knew what we were up to before we had to ask. When my glasses broke playing with my nephew and a tiny soccer ball, I just walked to Badepapa’s office and chilled in the AC. Within the hour, I had a new frame of my choosing despite the glasses shop owner closing early that day. I also got an hour of entertainment watching Badepapa struggle with an outdated Windows XP desktop and a confused errand guy.
Even people above Badepapa in life’s chain of command received him well. My dadaji (grandpa on dad’s side) is infamously old school and strict. Yet with Badepapa, any of his complaints were things to smile about, and never to take too seriously. If dadaji was ever in a serious mood, it would be Badepapa who’d go pacify him on behalf of the family. His grunts and discipline would translate into Badepapa’s big grin and a shrug, and all would be OK.
This vivacity showed up in family tash (cards) or karaoke night, and even when we brought our Wii to S3 and accidentally blew out the electricity because we forgot a converter for our US voltage model. That was probably the first scolding Badepapa gave Bhaiyu and I, and he couldn’t even make it through without laughing. There was no shortage of joy when you were with him.
As I grew up, I learned that this personality wasn’t cultivated in anything close to a carefree childhood. The first of 4 boys in a first-generation rural-to-city family, Badepapa took on the responsibility of family and building his own opportunity (business). When my dad moved to the US with us, it was with the confidence that his brothers could take care of everyone behind. Meanwhile, Badepapa -beyond familial responsibility- was also a cancer survivor, a fighter to business blackmail/gangs, and a constant support for friends in need.
I would never hear about this from him, because his life’s philosophy was his signature smile and to be “mast” (full of life and love, channeled with ease). In cruel irony, his final battle came again from beyond his control and forbade him from this easy going nature.
It turns out, Badepapa caught COVID while helping start a volunteering project that had been delayed since the initial quarantine in 2020 (and also being double masked and outside) The project, an anath ashram – orphanage – for Mumbai’s children, was getting building started. In the weeks before falling ill, he had spent all his time supporting extended family dealing with COVID itself. From 2nd cousins on my mom’s side to friends of classmates he’d grown up with, he helped organize help from food/oxygen to vital doses of remdesivir and hospital beds.
I don’t know what Badepapa’s last words to me were. The last time I saw him (over video call), he was on a ventilator and couldn’t speak, but he picked up my call and moved his head as I told him that we loved him and to stay strong. The doctors said they hadn’t seen someone in his condition fight this hard through every step of emergency care.
Badepapa was a fighter. In his final moments, he still cared about us more than himself – using his energy to physically say pranaam to dadaji and messaging every family member.
I am incredibly blessed to have known and been loved by such a gem of a person. Badepapa’s life was larger than life, and his absence feels even larger. It is a deep pain to see my parents cry, and it hurts to feel so helpless consoling family 1000s of miles away over video chat.
But Badepapa has also left us with a new duty – to preserve his legacy of living so lovingly, and to always wear a smile of true joy. To give everything for family and make more to give for others in need. To be mast.
I miss you, Badepapa.
Ram ram.
Migrating this site to its current version lost the original comments on this memorial. Below are screenshots.
