The resounding blares reach our homes in the depths of midnight, waking us from a peaceful sleep. The train never sleeps. This sensation reminds me of another train I have encountered in my short lifetime. Except this time, there were no wheels, no cars, and no horns; just a conductor and the train of life.

On an abnormally chilly Thursday morning, I stood on the platform for my 7:32 AM train to school. However, since I did not pack my headphones, the passing cars provided music to my ears. I found a rhythm, almost reaching a crescendo, but the train quickly approached. Once we boarded, the train accelerated into the blinding sunrise, signaling the start of a new day. Yet what started as a sunny Thursday certainly did not end that way.

I am lucky to not have experienced death in my immediate family until now. Even the uninviting tone that surrounds the word death haunts me. When I arrived home that Thursday, I grabbed a bag of Doritos, changed out of my uniform, and answered any lingering text messages. But little did I know that one chip eaten would be different from the next. Strolling around the kitchen, I received a long-awaited call from my mother at the hospital. I was waiting for a signal of hope. But I had to do the opposite - force a final goodbye I never wanted to say to my Nana. My hand quivered slightly while my cheeks flooded bright pink. Ultimately, I uttered a stone-faced farewell and anxiously hung up the phone. I stood in the kitchen, staring into space. I had eaten the final Dorito crumbs, even the ones that hid in the corners of the bag. 

In Gujarati culture, our maternal grandfather is called Nana. While he battled poor health for the last decade, he still uplifted healthy spirits in everyone’s lives. Nana wore his red winter hat and checkerboard sweater when he played Santa every Christmas. Some days, he would sit and watch over everyone with the same pleasant expression. Like a lion watching over his cubs, that was Nana. I can still hear my Nana discuss his investments and ask the nearest person how to turn the TV volume higher. One summer afternoon, I had the mundane task of piloting Nana’s creaky wheelchair. Somehow, Nana turned this into a cherished memory. In my eyes, Nana was a genius; he would solve complicated math problems in seconds. I am shocked as to how much I remember about my Nana. He was a fascinating conductor.

Religion was rooted in Nana’s life. According to a 2021 study, the world has an estimated six to seven million Jains. Nana was one of them. Jainism is an ancient Indian religion that teaches the values of nonviolence and karma. My Nana was almost eighty-two years old when he passed; we are hopeful that in all those years he built substantial, good karma from this particular life. I hope this karma has led him to an even better existence. As Jains, we value the moderation of eighteen sins, called the Papasthankas. One of those sins is Aparigraha, the possession of worldly attachments. Nonetheless, I can’t help but hope to attach myself to Nana again. 

A conductor’s job is to check every ticket until each seat is validated, no matter the circumstance. Nana did just that. Arriving in the U.S. with very little money, he had set his goals. Nana worked hard to provide for his wife, two daughters, family, friends, and himself. Yet, he faced an even heavier burden before he set foot in America. My mom was forty-eight years old when my Nana passed. But my Nana was only ten years old when he lost his own father. Nana grew up in a large household filled with five sisters. Since he was the only brother, he took care of them all. Nana made sure they received the guidance and love they deserved. He acted like a true conductor, leaving not one sister behind. 

On Thursday, October 21, 2021, I felt slightly absent from the world around me. I reflected on the sequence of events, slowly grieving. I shadowed my Nana, but after a while, I came to a realization. No one adjective will ever describe Nana’s presence, but I believe conductor is best. Yes, he was a chemist by profession, but the conductor of our lives. All our tickets were marked with love and warmth as if we were first-class passengers on his train. His skills have taught us to conduct our own trains on our own tracks. Our trains must and will move towards the sunrise, just like my 7:32 AM train did the day he departed.