She was my link to a fascinating time in my country’s
history. She had been a witness to the freedom struggle, and to my pride and
delight, also a humble participant in it. That connected me irrevocably to a
glorious era of great men and women who selflessly gave their all to win
independence for our land. She had seen it all, and through her, I felt that I
had been a witness to it too. Her vivid descriptions would stir my imagination
and her stories of the pre-1947 days would never fail to intrigue me, no matter
how many times she narrated them. I would take great pride in telling my
classmates that my grandmother had met many of the heroes of the independence
struggle that most had only read about in textbooks.
I went through a whole range of emotions that I felt for her
at different stages of my life – the awe as a young child turned into a slight
wariness of her strict discipline and then the proverbial generation gap as a
teenager. As an adult, I may not have agreed with her on most topics but I
could never discount her opinion – she always made me stop and think. I would
always know whether or not she would approve of a situation and anticipating
her reaction would make me smile. But what remained unchanged were the
enthralling narrations of a bygone age that would spill into politics,
philosophy, psychology, current affairs and what have you.
Its therefore more than a personal loss that I feel today.
It’s as if I have lost a slice of history – a valuable connection with a
celebrated past. Although the direct link is unfortunately no more, her voice
will forever remain strong in my memories as will the most precious takeaway of
our times together – an endearing interest in people and a compelling passion
to share and discuss everything under the sun.
R.I.P. Aaji.
