In Uniform and In Heart: A Service Legacy Worn with Pride

Today is your birthday, WaalidSab. The date written in your documents. It has been three years since you left us, but my heart still walks with you every morning.

My strongest memories are not from grand events, but from our journeys to the Hyderabad Public School, your favourite place. Rain or sun, we would leave when the sky was still grey. Your footsteps were always measured, your uniform always pressed. “Time does not wait for anyone,” you would say, your eyes on your simple watch. “If you respect time, the world will respect you.”

You were a man of few words, but the road to school was where you spoke in your own way. You would point to the old neem tree outside the school gate. “See how deep its roots are? Education is like that. It holds you steady in every storm.” You, who never sat in a classroom as a student, understood its power more than anyone.

When we’d pass the gate, your posture would change. A quiet pride straightened your shoulders. This was your kingdom of duty. You were the HPS employee known for never being late, never shirking a task. “Your name is your honour,” you’d tell me. “If you say you will do something, it is already done.“

Your last day at work in 2019 is captured in a photograph. You stand stiffly with the teachers, your face a mask of your usual discipline. But I saw what the camera didn’t; how their hands lingered on your shoulders, how their eyes shone. The strongest hearts in that school cried for you that day. They cried for the silent, sincere man who was the backbone of their mornings.

Four years after that retirement, you were gone. At your funeral, they came again. Teachers, principal, staff; people you hadn’t worked with for years after your retirement. Their presence said more than any eulogy could. My strict, non-expressive father had built a family through sheer, quiet character.

Now, when I pass by the old school gate, I still hear your voice on the wind. I hear the rhythm of your steps beside mine. You taught me without trying: that integrity is what you do when no one is watching, that love is often shown in silence, and that the deepest respect is earned not by words, but by a lifetime of simple, honest actions.

I miss those mornings. I miss those rides. I miss those lessons. I miss you.

And all I am trying to do now is build a service legacy for myself through the lessons I learned from you, and bring pride to your name… if ever I can.