To Be 90

a love letter to my grandmothers

I’m lucky to have both of my grandmothers still alive. They both turned 90 this past month. To understand everything they have gone through in their lives is unimaginable to me. Both were born in the same tiny village in Gujurat (in Western India). One moved to a slightly larger city just a few hours away, one immigrated to the US, the reason I probably exist.

Being in my 30s, I have recently felt the magnanimity of having both of these matriarchs in my life still. Although I may not see them much, just their presence in my life and in me has spoken wonders. The wisdom and grace that both of them present with to this day. Showing me what is appropriate, bringing small glimmers into the reasons we do the things that we do. I have begun to learn that bucking the system isn’t actually going against the grain. Bucking the system is carrying on tradition with intentionality and meaning.

There is an immense amount of class and poise to live the way they have. Caring and nurturing and being the reason that both of my parents and their siblings have survived and thrived.

For the longest time, I pushed back. I have distinct memories of being embarrassed by both of them. An Indian girl trying to fit into an American lifestyle with immigrant grandparents and parents showing me the way. Although I have aspects of that time of my life that I regret, I also acknowledge I needed to go through that to be able to appreciate my roots more now. I have distinct memories of trying to be more white than asian. I don’t fault myself for that. I don’t fault anyone for that. Everyone was doing what they felt was the right thing to do to survive.

But not my grandparents, and especially not my grandmothers. They never forced ways of change. They didn’t question every little thing. Some may say that is subservience, but I see it as small acts of rebellion. They knew that the power they had was in the love they carried (and STILL carry) in their hearts and the acts of devotion and nourishment through their hands.

I know no other women who have God as close to them as possible, spending hours of the day ensuring they’re prayers are done and the Divine’s name spoken on their lips. I know no other women who are so independent, both of my grandfathers’ having left this plane years ago. I know no other women who have stuck to tradition. I know no other women who still believe in showing up (and showing out). Living by what is right, appropriate, and good.

Oftentimes I see my generation and other younger ones frustrated and annoyed—how could they have let their life gone to waste just living and taking care of others. Not being able to do the things they wanted to. But I highly doubt that. Sure they may have regrets in their life—but the greatest gift given to a woman is not hyper independence. It’s love and to be able to love. To bring people close and make them feel worthy. To take care of. To be a nurturer. To care for. To never say no. To figure out ways to make things happen. To be savvy. To be cunning. To be smart. To be able to yield. To be able to give everything.

To be able to give everything not for defeat, because they knew so strongly that they’re wells were never low. They weren’t depleted. They didn’t know the same tired and fatigue we feel. I look at both of my grandmothers and think they are of a different breed. They could run laps around me, to this day.

While we’re trying to figure out “work life balance” they knew that every minute of their day was spent well because they did what they were meant to do, all while keeping God in the center of it all. Giving everything up to the Divine. True surrender is knowing they will get by, they will be taken care of.

While many would look at my grandmothers—housewives, moms, and maybe not much more to say than that—and see weakness, I see courage and strength. I see what real matriarchy is. The gift of giving. The gift of loving. The gift of nurturing.

I look at my grandmothers and see what it is to be a strong woman. I see what it means to be a member of society. I see what it means to love God fiercely.

They never felt alone or forgotten or less than. Their worth is carried in each breath they take.

Instead of trying to change the ways of living and existing in society, I turn to the generations of the past—the wise elders who always knew what it meant to be strong. I look to my grandmothers who smile to this day despite the struggles they have faced. I look and see an abundance of love.

What greater force is there to stand against darkness than that?

This is a love letter to Rasika Kadakia and Mandakini Baxi. Two extraordinary women. Strength and beauty has always followed them. Grace and poise has always been them. Divine grace has always carried them.

xx, n