I Shall Not Live in Vain

My father passed away on May 22nd, exactly two years after my mother. He was 95. He had a long and good life. But he was my father, and it still hurts.

A social reformist, a poet, and above all a very good man — the very definition of a Sikh gentleman.

He made me who I am today. I was always into science and technology, but he made sure I was well-rounded. He got me into literature and poetry — English, Punjabi, and Urdu. He had me study religions across traditions — not just Guru Granth Sahib, but also the Gita, Ramayana, Bible, and Quran. He had me read about social sciences and law — the Indian Constitution, the American Constitution, the thinking behind modern jurisprudence. Every morning he made sure I read the Indian Express, to stay on top of current affairs. Even after I moved to America, he kept shaping my life. I owe him everything.

His favorite poet was Emily Dickinson. A Sikh gentleman in India who wrote poetry in Urdu, and his favorite voice was a recluse from Amherst. That was him — curious across every line you might draw. One year I asked him what he wanted, and he said he was looking for a particular Dickinson collection. I gifted him her complete works. He loved that book more than the watch I gave him, more than the fountain pen. He told me so. He meant it.

Today, on Father’s Day, I went through his notes. The first thing I found was a Dickinson poem he had copied out:

If I can stop one heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain,
If I can ease one life the aching
or cool one pain
or help one fainting Robin
I shall not live in vain.

He eased my life. He shaped it. By Dickinson’s measure — which was his measure — he did not live in vain.

He also taught me that life must go on. He would want me to focus on my family, and on the work. So I return to building, with even more determination than before.

That’s how I honor him.