My True General: A Father, A Leader, A Guiding Light

Sometime in the late Seventies

As a curious six-year-old in New Delhi, I was obsessed with cars. I remember sitting with my father, watching television, utterly fixated — not on the politics of the day, but on one very important question: Who would get to keep the six-door car of the Indian Prime Minister after the elections?

That was my world. Every time we stepped outside, I would bombard him with questions. I wanted to know the make and model of every car we passed. I was equally fascinated by the horn sounds — Did it beep? Honk? Sound like a trumpet? I needed answers to all of it.

And my father had them. Every single one. He would patiently sit with me, answering every query with calm and interest — never brushing me off, never losing patience.

Even today, whenever I buy a new car, he turns the tables — asking me the same kind of questions I used to ask him as a six-year-old. It’s become our little ritual.

My father was my best friend when I was six. He still is. Our conversations, even now, are filled with smiles, mischief, and laughter. I honestly can’t remember a single exchange with him that doesn’t start or end with a joke.

No matter how tough the day has been, he’s the one person who can make me laugh — every single time. And somehow, we always end up playing the same roles for each other: he lifts me when I’m low, and I do the same for him. It’s a rhythm we’ve shared for as long as I can remember.

My Father Taught Me Everything

When I was six, my father had a soft red ball that came with a bat. I’ve always been left-handed, but every sport my father taught me — which is nearly all of them — I learned to play right-handed. Because I learned from him. And I wanted to be just like him.

He would stand about 10 yards away in the driveway of our home in Hauz Khas, New Delhi, tossing the ball to me over and over. I would bat away all afternoon.

Within a few months, I was good enough to go out and play with the other kids — and I never stopped learning. He taught me to watch the ball leave the bowler’s hand. Every time he tried to trick me with spin, I’d catch the smile in his eyes — proud of his little trick, and even prouder when I caught it.

That’s where I learned the most important lesson in batting: always watch the ball as it leaves the hand.

The Countless Rounds of Golf With My Father

I was seven when golf first entered my life. One afternoon, as usual, I was trying to skip my homework. I asked my mom if I could go to the golf course with my dad. She gave me a firm no.

But my father had other plans.

He worked with the pro shop to have a club shortened just for me. Back then, golf wasn’t a popular sport in India — equipment was hard to come by, especially for kids. So I learned with a right-handed club, just like his.

At first, golf was just an excuse to get out of the house. My dad played two to three times a week with his regular four-ball group. I was allowed to tee off after their second shots, and with no training other than watching my father, I started swinging away.

I still remember one afternoon clearly — teeing off as instructed, and my shot landing surprisingly close to his. I think that’s when something changed. Over time, golf became more than just a distraction. It became a sport I genuinely loved — and more importantly, a way for my father and me to stay connected as I grew up.

Even now, whenever we meet, we almost always find time for a round. It’s our ritual — and one of the many quiet ways we stay close.

The Things I Learned Just by Watching Him

There are lessons my father never sat down to teach me — but I learned them all the same, just by watching him.

Alongside his humor and jovial nature, one of his most loved qualities has always been his compassion. Over the years, I’ve seen him treat every person he encounters with kindness and respect — no matter who they are.

That’s something I’ve always admired.

In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father be rude or impolite to anyone, no matter how frustrating the situation might have been. There’s a quiet dignity in the way he carries himself — he is, in every sense of the word, a true gentleman.

A True General, and a True Warrior

My father has been quietly battling cancer since 2009. While his condition is manageable, it isn’t curable. Over the past 15 years, chemotherapy has taken its toll — physically, emotionally, and mentally. It would break most people.

But not him.

I’ve never once heard him complain. He’s never wished for a different life or shown any bitterness about the cards he’s been dealt. He has simply accepted it, embraced it, and moved forward — one day at a time, smiling through the discomfort, always keeping his spirit intact.

He is the toughest person I’ve ever known. And everything I am today is because of him.

If souls return in lifetimes, then I hope he is my father in every one of mine. I feel deeply privileged to walk this life with him as my guide.

As he turns 85 on April 9th, 2025, I want to mark this day with a simple note:

My dad in his uniform (1994)

Happy 85th birthday, Dad.
Thank you for every memory, every lesson, and every moment.
I am who I am because of you.