The Last Smile: A Fatherâ€™s Love Story by Jeevan Zutshi

(Looking back at the untimely death of a promising young man by his father-)

Chapter Ten

Elementary School 79 I n 1982, Amit was five-years-old and ready for kindergarten. I had returned from my latest stint overseas and we were back in Fremont, California, where I would stay working for a different company until I returned to Saudi Arabia in 1984. We lived in our home in Ardenwood Village and Amit went to kindergarten at Ardenwood Elementary School. He loved school, especially all the games and sports they would engage in. He was always very much an outdoors boy and loved playing with his friends. However, he also showed responsibility in completing all his homework assignments and did so under the watchful eye of Usha and his grandmother, Lalita, my mother. My being back in America from overseas was a gift for Amit, as he could be around the many family members who now all lived in Fremont or in nearby communities. He was surrounded by those who loved him and he always had visitors. From a very early age, Amit had attributes that made him seem amazingly grown up. Around September, the younger members of our family decided to go for a hike up Mission Peak, which is about 2500 ft. high, in the Fremont hills. Amit joined us.

It was during a period in my life when I was a little exhausted and especially felt so on the hike, for I had not been physically active for a while. While others were fit enough to pass us and began to create some distance between us, Amit did not leave me even for a moment. As I stopped and looked up the steep mountain at those that seemed far ahead of us, Amit gave me encouraging words in his very fluent Kashmiri dialect. He said, â€œDear Baba, what is wrong? I do see that everyone else has overtaken us, but donâ€™t worry. Donâ€™t stop. Keep on going. We will be with everyone else soon.â€ It was remarkable to hear this from a five-year-old child, who was concerned about motivating me and building my morale. These words, â€œDonâ€™t stop.

Keep on goingâ€ seem especially poignant to remember now. It is also interesting that when he began to babble, he began to call me Baba on his own. Baba is the name for father in some cultures, but it is rare that Kasmiri Hindus use it. However, in Kashmiri, the translation for father is â€œBub.â€ All the children that came after Amit also began to call me Baba, and even today everyone calls me Baba. In October, 1982 just a few weeks after coming home from Saudi Arabia, Usha gave birth to our second son, Rahul. With this birth, the large contingent The Last Smile 80 of our family, which lived nearby, descended upon our home. Rahul got loads of attention and it was an exciting time for all of us. As soon as Rahul was old enough to play with him, Amit doted on his younger brother. I recall how happy he was playing endless hours with Rahul. He was never riveted to the TV set and that could be said for our entire family; there was nothing more enjoyable for him than playing with Rahul and nothing more enjoyable for the rest of us than watching him play with Rahul. It felt like truly the best of times for our family.

We had not only survived, but we were together as a family, thriving in America as naturalized U.S. Citizens. Amit continued his schooling and kindergarten went by quickly. In first grade, he continued to devote the proper time to studying and when his educational obligations were done, there was only one place to find himâ€“playing sports. Amit immediately took to soccer and baseball. He was not a natural athlete that one could easily see was going to the professional levels, but he was definitely good at everything he did. From early on, it was evident that Amit was fully engaged in his life. He enjoyed school, performed at an above-average level in all his academic subjects, and loved being around his classmates. But each year it became increasingly clear that sports were his true passion. He poured his heart and soul into them.

This is very noteworthy because this passion stayed with him all of his short life. During this time I returned to Saudi Arabia for another yearâ€™s contract. We talked on the phone regularly, talking about his school, his friends, and his interests. I missed him very much, but time went fast. When I returned home in 1985, Amit was a little less than eight-years-old. I was amazed to see how well he could dance like Michael Jackson. As I write this, Michael Jackson has just passed away at the age of fifty. The world is riveted in making sense of his life, death, and legacy and I can only wonder what Amit would have thought about it. When Amit graduated from Ardenwood, Rahul was finishing kindergarten and going into the first grade.

THE END

PART TWO AMIT (The Last Smile: A Fatherâ€™s Love Story by Jeevan Zutshi-10)