My grandmother showed us how to be happy

By Gurpreet Chawla

As a child, I lived in Delhi with my parents. My father’s elder brother and younger sister also lived in Delhi with their families.

My grandparents lived in our hometown, Yamuna Nagar in Haryana with my father’s younger brother. My grandfather assisted in my Chacha’s business and would rarely come to Delhi. But my grandmother would come to Delhi every year to stay with us for a month or two.

Then my Tayaji would take her to his home, followed by my Bhuaji.

My grandmother was old with a wrinkled face but energetic for her age. She never attended a school but could read Punjabi and Hindi.

We would ask the newspaper hawker to deliver a Hindi newspaper when she came. With the daily newspaper, she would read a Hindi Novel before going to sleep.

She would go around the house looking at the things that needed a cover and ask my mother to buy her threads in various colours. Then she would make table covers, pedestal fan covers with beautiful embroidery using a crochet needle and wooden frame.

Next, she would start knitting woollen gloves and caps for us. Sweaters took longer to finish than her stay with us, so she restricted her to items she could finish before she left.

She also ensured that we had a stock of Sewiyan and Papad till her next visit. She would roll Sewiyan with her hand from the flour dough on a mud pitcher.

She would be busy from morning to evening doing all this. If not, she would help my mom in the kitchen.

Many a time, my mother would complain that you should relax and enjoy my hospitality. You do so much that I feel embarrassed.

But my Dadi would listen and still keep doing all this.

She didn’t need a break as she did what she did on all seven days.

She kept herself engaged in doing one thing or the other from morning to evening. Never does she feel tired or look unhappy.

It was not her duty to do what she did. Her motivation was the fulfilment she felt by creating something worthwhile for her children and grandchildren.

She had that glow and a smile on her wrinkled face.

Happiness doesn’t happen. We produce it with our own hands.

(First published on Linkedin.com)

Read: Cheers to the wrinkles and the stories they tell