Shantaba, I call her, my grandmother on my mother's side. And 'Paentoo', she called me.

I wonder how she got to pronounce my name that way. My name is Pratik, and people call me Pintoo. 'Paentoo' seemed a little awkward to me... but not to her.

She was a wonderful lady. She had survived many cataclysms in life. My grandfather had passed away early, leaving her with five little children.

I have great affection for her. She used to tell me bedtime stories when I was young. She would come to my rescue when my dad spanked me, and cuddle me close, close to her heart. She would tell me tales of how she fought her battles in court, of how she helped the police nab burglars on a train... She would recall how I used to throw steel utensils down our 3rd floor apartment at the hawkers.

She was always there when I needed her and I have always tried to be there for her.

She died this September, on the 17th, at her hometown near Udaipur.

I wasn't there for her. Hadn't been for over a year now.

Circumstances had led me far, very far. But I longed to meet her. I know for a fact that despite her frail health, she used to rush to the phone whenever I called up. She always wanted to hear all my news then and there.

And I had a wish that I often communicated to her over the phone. I used to promise that I would take her around India, to all the temples she wanted to visit... I never got the chance.

She must have wanted me beside her during the last three months of her agony, when her kidneys had given up. I am sure that she must have wished to speak to me during her last moments... See me, touch me, especially when she came to know that she would not live for long.

Man is an eccentric creature. He gets entangled in a web of his own desires. He has never-ending desires, which he justifies in the name of his loved ones -- when all they might need is his presence, his love.

He craves for accomplishments. And for that, he strives much, little realising that he loses more than he gains.

Shantaba, I am sorry that I failed you.