As I sit here reflecting on my life, I can't help but think of my Baba and how much he meant to me. I never got the chance to tell him just how deeply I loved him, and that's something I regret every day.

One of my fondest memories as a child was the simple joy of eating "Parle G" biscuits. Baba brought a packet home every single day without fail. Not once did he forget. It was our little ritual, a symbol of his love and consistency.

Baba and I used to go out on his bicycle. He even...