isn't he dead yet?

His presence is almost unnoticeable. But you can tell that he was around when you walk into the fornt yard early in the morning. You might catch yourself saying, "Hm. I thought the Rose bush was a little more bushy. Hm."

Baba is the ghost you scare little children with so that they don't get out of bed in the dark. Ever since I can remember I have always seen him in his (not so) white dhoti and (ever so) short kurta. Day after day, year after year, Baba has been the one that was suspected of stealing segments of the garden hose little by little, selling the chunks of wood and iron-scrap left over from the construction work at the house, bartering the left-over bathroom tiles for flower pots, chopping off the narangi tree when it was just about to flower, and selling the best guavas from the guava tree.

Baba is not only the gardener who runs his private business with whatever he can get his hands on, at night, he would also double as the faithful watchman. He is the old relic who'd fall asleep a hair's breadth away from the gate 8pm every night (much to Mother's irritation) to ensure security, and we'd have to sneak the car in and out, ensuring that we don't disturb the old man. Sometime's he'd lock the gate for added measure, and we'd have to steal the keys from under his pillow (which made Mother even more irritated).

On cold winter mornings, we'd find old baba too old and too weak and too frail to get up and attend the gate - we'd watch him all but lost in his old blanket. It would make us wonder - how many more winters is this old man going to see? The thought would bring tears to our eyes - good old faithful baba! He's one of the servants who'd been with us when Dad was still around. Its funny how sharing grief brings people together.

But all thoughts of death would fade away as the fog would recede and the sun would shine and baba could be seen and heard again, busily chopping away the rose bush with half its roses hardly bloomed. You can't help but excuse him his faults. You'd say to yourself, "No. He isn't dead yet."