Dr Neki’s Tribute Translation on Mothers Day

No One Else Like You

Happy Mother's Day to All

(A tribute to mothers and motherhood – an eternal and divine form)

There’s no one else like you,  
None in this world compares.  
Even God bows before you,  
He comes to Earth in your form.  

All sages and saints took birth  
From the shelter of your womb.  
Even heaven feels proud  
To have a place in your feet’s dust.  

God Himself can't fully repay  
The debt He owes to you.  
He gave you the power to create,  
But didn’t keep it Himself.  

So gentle, so patient you are,  
Full of pure compassion.  
The one who nurtures humanity  
In this hard-hearted world.  

You sacrificed your own joys,  
To give us the essence of life.  
From your love and pain,  
We were sculpted into being.  

You protected us night and day,  
Always blessing us quietly.  
You raised us with faith,  
Wishing only for our well-being.  

In your arms lies that heaven  
For which all yearn.  
The world may not offer much,  
But a mother’s love never fades.  

No poet has written such depth,  
No sage described your grace.  
None can measure your kindness,  
Your love knows no limits.  

The peace and trust you give  
Cannot be found elsewhere.  
No heaven matches your lap,  
No god equals your Care.

 Inspired by -— Dr Jaswant Singh Neki’s Punjabi poem ‘Tera Jed na Koi Duja’

Mothers Day 2025

My Mom Sardarni Savitri Devi and Dari’s Mom Sardarni Pritam Kaur with 3 months Shiv in her lap

Today is Mother’s Day, and as I was going through my collection of old photographs, I found myself searching for something very special — a picture of my mother Sardarni Savitri Devi and Dari’s mother Sardarni Pritam Kaur. The memory tied to that photo is one I hold close to my heart. It was taken on June 5th, 1975 — a truly historic moment for our family.

I am hauling Dari’s Mom wheel chair in a party.

We had just completed an incredible journey after completing my assignment at Trishuli Hyder Project, Nepal: we flew through a Domestic Airlines from Kathmandu to Jitpur Simara a small airport about 15 Km from Raxoul, then took a bus to Muzaffarpur, followed by another to Samastipur, and finally caught a train to New Delhi. When we arrived at New Delhi Paharganj Station, there they were — both our families, united in that moment, full of joy and reunion. That one photo taken at the station captured not only the moment but also the deep bond between our two mothers — two incredible women whose love, strength, and wisdom continue to shape our lives.

Dari and my Mom on way to celebrate ‘Karva Chouth’.

On this Mother’s Day, I want to honor both of them — my mother and  Dari’s Mom — for the immense love they gave us, the sacrifices they made, and the blessings they continue to shower on our family from above. Their spirits live on in us, and I carry their love with me every day. Happy Mother’s Day to both of them — with all my heart and everlasting gratitude.

Another Genious Colleague MGK passes away

 MGK Pillai, 3 years back- pic courtesy by SRN

Sh MGK Pillai formerly MS NREB and later Director General CPRI and Kerala Electricity Regulatory Commission Chairman expired May5, 2025 at 10.00 PM at Kollam, Kerala.

He lived and died gracefully.

Umpteen times, the three of us—Rama ji, MGK, and I—would sit together for a cup of tea outside Sewa Bhawan Jhuggies. He used to tease me, saying I was his lucky charm.

I had very much wanted to see him during my last visit to Kerala when I met Sh SR Nair and his respected wife in their house as well. He had just recovered from his bypass surgery. But due to a tight schedule and the group I was traveling with, I couldn’t fulfill that wish.

I recall a couple of instances when I met him in his room while he was serving as a Director. We were just chatting and preparing to step out for tea when he suddenly got a call from the Chairman’s office with some instructions. Without missing a beat, he jotted down the facts quickly. Then, politely excusing himself, he said, “Let me just finish this—I’ll forget it later.” He immediately called his junior officers and passed on the instructions. Within minutes, he was back, ready to talk again. We then carefully slipped out for our tea. He told me, “Before I forget, I like to attend to my seniors’ tasks immediately.” That moment left a strong impression on me—it was a valuable lesson in work ethic and respect for hierarchy.

Another time, while he was in charge of power system planning for the Northern Region, I had requested him to include the name of my village, Badbar, in the upcoming Five-Year Plan. He took the request seriously. When the report from the Punjab Electricity Board was presented by its Chief Engineer, he casually asked whether Badbar  was included as a substation. The Chief Engineer was taken aback—he hadn’t even heard of Badbar. After some inquiry and surprise, they worked to include it. When the final report was submitted a month later, he ensured that Badbar was listed, and a 66 kV substation was planned for it. That act of consideration meant a lot to me—and to my village.

Once, he had also asked me to arrange $1000 for his elder son’s admission to a Hotel Management course in Australia. I managed the amount through my father-in-law, who happened to be visiting us in Delhi. He later gave me Rs. 9000 in exchange.

I remember being invited for coffee at his home. I truly enjoyed the snacks and his quiet hospitality.

He was a man of few words, but his writing was powerful. He could draft meaningful, clear notes straight from the heart—without referring to any documents or old files. He was truly a genius.

I will miss him deeply.

I feel consoled that he passed away peacefully. He will always remain in my thoughts and prayers.

May the Almighty grant peace to Sh MGK Pillai’s departed soul.

Dotty ran away!

Dotty

Today, May 5, 2013—Shilpy’s birthday—we welcomed a tiny new member into our home: a ladybug fondly named Dotty Kapoor by Gobind and Jania (G&J). With her seven little dots, Dotty instantly became the center of their world. G&J were bursting with excitement, dreaming up ways to take her along on their upcoming trip to New Delhi—only to realize she had no passport or visa! The past 24 hours were filled with laughter, imagination, and pure childhood joy.

But by morning, Dotty was gone. She had quietly flown away, leaving G&J heartbroken and searching every corner for her. Though their faces fell, we reminded them that maybe Dotty was off on her own adventure. Even in her short visit, she gave us lasting memories and a whole lot of love.

Gobind shows early inclination towards Science

In April 2014, Gobind achieved a remarkable milestone by securing First Place among 21 elementary schools within the San Ramon Valley Unified School District. This prestigious recognition was awarded in the Science Alliance Project for 5th Grade students, specifically in the field of Solution Chemistry.

Gobind’s project demonstrated a deep understanding of scientific principles, creativity in experimental design, and clarity in communication. Competing against some of the brightest young minds in the district, his work stood out for its thorough research, innovative approach, and practical application of chemistry concepts related to solutions.

This accomplishment not only highlighted Gobind’s passion for science at an early age but also set a strong foundation for his future academic and intellectual pursuits. His success was a reflection of his dedication, critical thinking skills, and commitment to excellence.

Sikh Turban in History

My Turban My Pride

When cries rose high in Pahalgam’s night,

And terror dared to dim the light,

We rushed with aid, with heart and hand,

My Turban soaked in blood and sand.

When Tiger Hill roared with fire and fate,

I stood tall beneath a sky of hate—

Wearing my Turban, wrapped in grace,

A Sikh, with valor carved on my face.

When laws of truth were brought to light,

And RTI rose to defend the right,

In Parliament’s hall, so firm, so bright,

My Turban crowned the voice of might.

When plans for India’s rise were drawn,

And dreams of progress kissed the dawn,

The Planning Chair bore my name,

With a Turban that shone like a flame.

When Beas ran cold and fear ran deep,

And retreat was whispered in the soldier’s sleep,

I stood alone with thunderous will,

And pushed the war till Lahore’s hill.

In seventy-one, when surrender came,

And pride of foes lay down in shame,

I stood, my Turban never bowed—

Their pistol dropped, my silence loud.

In sixty-two, with courage grand,

We stood like rocks across the land—

No fear could touch our sacred thread,

We wore our Turbans—unbowed, unsaid.

Before the dawn of freedom’s birth,

When exile chains gripped the earth,

In Kala Pani’s depths of pain,

Our Turbans bore that burning strain.

At Jallianwala, where bullets rained,

Our blood was spilled, our faith unchained.

Through every cry, through every gun,

Our Turbans bore what can’t be undone.

When Afghans charged with fire and blade,

And shadows danced across the glade,

Maharaja stood—no need to speak,

His Turban roared for every Sikh.

When daughters cried in darkest plight,

We rode like storms, we fought that night.

Hari Singh Nalua’s soul burned high,

With Turban blazing in the sky.

When I left this land for distant shore,

With aching heart and dreams galore,

My Turban held me firm and true,

In lands where no one ever knew.

From birth to death, from womb to grave,

This cloth of honor wraps the brave.

You reach for it with silent hand—

I see the move. I understand.

But know this, O friend! I’ll never bow.

This Turban lives—then, now, and how.

The world has learned what it means to me,

Your judgment, O Judge, changes no decree.

For if we know to tie it right,

We surely know to stand and fight.

So raise your gaze, and know this well—

My Turban holds a thousand tales to tell.

Not just in war, but in pain and grief,

We stand for love, we bring relief.

Our adorable Bhua ji ‘Kaako Bai’

                             Harbans Kaur 1901-1968
Harbans Kaur ‘Kaako Bai’ Bhua ji, this is the picture we got hers when we turned in the paper work for her pension

We have weddings in our family at the end of April and again at the end of May. So, Dari decided to go to the bank and open the safe deposit box to look for the precious jewellery we planned to wear for the occasions. While she was going through the items, she found a long dual gold chain with a beautiful, built-in locket—one with a picture of Guru Nanak Dev Ji engraved on the cute locket. The chain is quite long—possibly 20 to 22 inches or even more—and must be around 150 years old.

Approx 150 year old Necklace decorated and enhanced my Bhua ji personality. It is so nicely crafted that my Mom liked on her tall necked daughter-in-law Dari as if it was customized for her.

Pic of Guru Nanak Dev ji crafted so beautifully, much before Sobha Singh’s famous picture of Guru ji adored every Sikh house hold.

This chain belonged to my beloved Bhua Ji, Harbans Kaur, who was fondly called Kaako Bai. She was younger of my father’s two elder stepsisters, and was as old as my grandmother, Bhabi Ji (Karam Devi). I feel compelled now to write a few memories of my dear Bhua Ji.

She and her elder sister were married to two real brothers—Sardar Ram Singh and Sardar Chattar Singh. Kakoo Bai Bhua Ji was married to the younger brother, Sardar Chattar Singh, an industrial plant engineer who managed massive plants owned by many including one by famous Punj Brothers. Though not formally educated as an engineer, he was extremely skilled and led the engineering department of the plants. Bhua Ji used to tell me how even while sleeping, he could sense what was wrong with a machine. They lived inside the plant premises, and he would wake up, rush out, and fix whatever was needed.

He earned quite a bit for those days, and they lived comfortably until his untimely death. At the time of Partition in 1947, while most of our family moved to the Indian side, he was working in Gurdaspur. After his passing, Bhua Ji continued living alone in a large rented house in Gurdaspur. She had cash in the bank and could afford the rent, so she chose to remain independent, even as most relatives moved to Patiala, New Delhi, or Shimla. My father eventually settled in Panipat with a government job.

Despite everyone urging her to live with family and save money, she preferred solitude. Initially, she would make requests to her brothers asking for money support, and my father and uncle would oblige. Eventually, when her funds dwindled—except for one fixed deposit of Rs 10, 000 —it was decided that she would move in with her brothers.

They arranged a plan: six months in Chandigarh, six months with us in Panipat. But her stay in Chandigarh didn’t go well, and ultimately, it was decided she would live with my father permanently. She arrived with her Philips radio an upscale luxurious item in those days and some modest luggage, and she settled into one of our rooms in Panipat.

She had by now 5,000 Rupees left, which my father immediately invested in a Private Transport company through our friend and uncle S Thakar Singh, yielding 12% interest— thus earning her 50 rupees a month. Alongside that, Papa ji also arranged an old age Government pension of 25 rupees per  monthl. So with 75 rupees a month and no other living expenses, she managed comfortably and with dignity.

Though she was of my grandmother’s age, she always treated my father with immense respect, never using his name—always calling him Praji. Even her younger brother, my uncle, was addressed as Pra Ji..

She set up her own little kitchen within the house, bought her groceries, cooked her meals, and often exchanged dishes with my mother. My father used to travel to his court Job in Karnal, about 20 miles away, catching a local train from Panipat around 8:30 AM. He’d leave the house by 7:30, but such was Bhua Ji’s affection for him, she would wake up early, prepare dishes, and offer him a taste before he left. If he approved, she would beam with pride. And if she missed his departure, she felt genuinely upset and would save the dish for him to try later.

She walked with a limp and was quite old, yet never missed these daily rituals. She was deeply devoted.

She often told us stories of her younger days—how she was a good singer and used to perform at plant parties. After singing, the crowd would shout, “Once more! Harbans Kaur!” She’d also tell us how deeply her husband loved her, how he earned so much and made sure she had gold and cash. My mother used to marvel at how such a tall, handsome chief engineer had adored Bhua Ji—she was not conventionally beautiful, but her charm and spirit were unmatched.

She lived in an attached small room passing through the kids’ room, and at night, when she woke up for the bathroom, she’d find us studying. She’d quietly say, ‘Kathan Tapasya’, ‘Kathan Tapasya’—acknowledging the hard work we put in was like penance.

We encouraged her to meditate or recite prayers instead of sleeping all day and night, but she’d simply smile and say, ‘Naam khumari Nanaka, chadi rahe din Raat’—“I am intoxicated with the name of the Divine, remembering Him day and night.”

That long chain we took out to use in the wedding brought all this memories back. When she passed away, she still had around 2,200 rupees and some jewellery left. We donated all of it to the Gurdwara. Papaji asked his brother if he wanted to keep the jewellery, but Chacha Ji wasn’t interested. So Papaji got the items—two pieces, including that big Neck Collar—valued by my friend Diwan Saigal’s father, a jeweller. They were worth 950 rupees, which he then donated that money to our Gurdwara in Khail Bazar, Panipat.

Later, at my ring ceremony, a golden Neck Collar known as Guluband (in Hindi Gulu is neck and band is close) was placed around Dari’s neck. My dad asked Baiji (Dari’s grandmother) if it was alright to repurpose that gold. Baiji was a wise, modern woman who understood the value of antiques but also embraced change. She gave her blessing. We had matching earrings added, and Dari wore them proudly. We still have that set.

Harvinder wearing that Neck Collar (Guluband) at the ring ceremony in Oct 1971

I miss my Bhua Ji dearly. She had no children of her own, yet she poured her love and devotion into our family as if we were hers. Towards the end of her life, she was very ill, bedridden, and needed care. A kind lady from our neighborhood helped her through those final days.

Papaji invited all near and dear ones from the extended family for her ‘Antim Ardaas’ - final rites. After the ceremony, he also distributed money to the relatives who had travelled to attend her last rites—from the amount she had left behind. It was an old cultural tradition, a gesture of gratitude to help compensate for the expenditure they had borne to travel and attend such a solemn occasion. I remember clearly—one relative was reluctant to accept the money, but for the first time ever, I saw Papaji get emotional. With tears in his eyes, he gently insisted, asking him to accept it as a final token of gratitude. That moment revealed something very deep: although she was his step-sister and much older than him, there was a special bond between them—one only Waheguru could have created.

Every year, in the month of November, around the time of Thanksgiving, we make special donations - a tradition initiated by Dari, at the Gurdwara in the name of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfathers. In their remembrance, I always include the name of my beloved Bhuaji as well, alongside my Papa ji and Bibi ji.

Today, as I remember her, I send all my love to her soul. Long live our Bhua ji. Stay blessed in heaven.