Passing On....

(Inspired by a wonderful post by my friend Zephyr Nag)

First quarter of the last century...

She had lost her mother at a very young age. Her father, never remarried, in those days of  alarming step-behaviours,  and his being both father and mother to her was actually an education for her.  Her father , had risen to his position, from very humble beginings by virtue of pure hard work and struggle, and helping out folks who needed resources for education was something he religiously did, and she imbibed an attitude that no formal education could have given her.

Attitudes can never be taught. They have to observed, imbibed and learned. And practised. 

Her own children grew up, with a conservative bringing up, in the face of different lifestyles they observed in their often cosmopolitan classmates. There was entire set of unrelated folks who owed their college education to her and her husband, who assisted them with fees and books, and often, even some counseling. And there was never a pervading spirit of highlighting what-chariity-you-did, have-vs-have-nots-publicity etc ,  in all this giving and taking. This was how life was lived. Period. 

By and by her children settled down in their own lives. And she travelled around the world, being the indulgent grandparent who attended the important milestones in the lives of the grandkids.  Be it someone's graduation,  be it someone's important sports meet , or even someone's annual day or felicitation somewhere. Grandpa didnt travel so much, and so she had to be present.

On  a winter's day in November 2000, at 83, she returned, tired  and jet lagged from attending the eldest grandson's graduation in the US. Her own daughter in India had just returned from attending a state sports meet with her own daughter, and travelled back with grandpa to Mumbai to receive her.  It was Divali, an they would all stay together for a while at the daughter's.    

This granddaughter was an adopted child, who then didnt know about her own adoption. But the daughter's family had made it a point everyyear, to visit the orphanage near their house , during Bhaidooj every Divali, when they took sweets for the kids there  and played with them.

That Bhaidooj, she was still coming out from her jetlag and preferred to rest at home.  Grandpa had just returned from his morning walk, and was reading the papers and getting orgainzed when the family set out for the morning visit.

"So are you guys off to visit the temple ? "  he asked , gesturing at his daughter, son-in-law, grandson and granddaughter .

Before they could answer, she looked up from some vegetables she was sorting and cutting.

 Like so many of her ilk, she could never sit idle; the hands were always busy, helping or giving.

"Yes. Something almost like that . Like a temple. "  she said, looking into the distance, as they waved goodbye to the family off on their annual morning trip to the orphanage.


Her daughter never forgot those words.

They were not to know that, that  was her last day with them. She collapsed that evening , was hospitalized and passed away 2 days later.

One of the biggest legacies she left,  was the understanding, that religion , was not how you did rituals, and got intimidated by Gods and  rules.

It was really, how you learned to give , from what little you had.  It was about respect and empathy for those life stories which were not as happy and secure as yours. It was about thinking something deeper than appearances, looks, and a spik-and-span life.  And it was never something you shouted from the rooftops...

 A learning and a set of values , imbibed, hopefully, by her descendants, over all the years.....