Surya Shekar, first runner-up of our first blogging competition, talks about the important role that elders play in our lives. A year back, when I first moved into hostel more than a thousand miles away from home, I felt all alone. For the first time, I had no mother with me to wake me up every day (which is no easy task); I had no father to guide me about my decisions; I had no grandmother to feed me with her own hands (a privilege I still enjoy every time I am back home); I had no grandfather to thrill me with the stories of his exploits in faraway lands. All I had with me was a cauldron of emotions: a whirlpool of sayings, advice, stories and morals. The first day I was in my hostel room alone, I felt like crying. It felt like I was on a lonely unguided ship taking me to a desolate place far, far away with no promises to return soon. I started thinking, “What if my grandparents die while I am away? What if something terrible happens to my family?” I broke down and started weeping. Which was when the phone rang up. Maa is one of those gentle souls who cannot be at peace knowing that someone somewhere else is suffering. So when I picked up Maa’s call, I pretended to be alright. Quite obviously, she saw through it. But she knows best how to calm someone down. She took my mind off by weaving a story about our winter vacation plans and asked me what I felt about it. Then she recounted the story of how Dora, our cat, was finding it difficult to get up on the window sill, so she just had to claw and chew through the expensive curtains which kept getting in the way. Maa was almost sympathizing with Dora though I could hear Dad grumbling about Dora’s elevated position in the household. At the end of the phone call, I was genuinely happy. There’s a unique lesson to be learnt from each elderly person, because they have all grown old with their own set of ideas and experiences, tied together with intimate bonds. While Maa taught me how to control outbursts of anger, Dad taught me how to solve problems rationally. While Dadu (grandpa) taught me how to think, Ammi (grandma) taught me how to feel. Even before I learnt to read, Ammi used to read out Amar Chitra Katha stories to me, enthralling me with stories of Lakshmibai and Shivaji, inspiring me with stories of Netaji and Swamiji, entertaining me with stories of Akbar-Birbal and Vikram-Betaal. The support my elders have given me, is enormous. Their influence, all-encompassing. Is it possible for me to support them back for all that they ever did? Surprisingly, yes. Maa once told me how Ammi loves telling her sisters when I do well in an exam or win a quiz. She feels good knowing that there’s her grandson leading a healthy life (ignoring the chips and soft drinks) miles away from home, making her proud. Dadu’s expectations are somewhat higher: he wants me to wake up by 6 every morning.
To conclude with two lines from one of my favourite songs, from Ek Phool Do Mali, where the father sings to his child:
“Aaj ungli thaam ke teri, tujhe main chalna sikhlaaun Kal haath pakadna mera, jab main buddha ho jaaun”
(Today, I enfold your hands and teach you how to walk Tomorrow, do clasp my hands when I become too old)

Anirban Saha, winner of our first blogging competition, talks about his grandmother. My grandmother, Thamma as I used to call her, was perhaps my first friend. When my mother used to be away with my sister for her music/dance class or perhaps her tuition classes, I sneaked into Thamma’s room and either did my school homework or play chess or listen to stories of Krishna and Chaitanya. She taught me how to play chess. I loved the way she once explained the role of the queen – to defend the King, the cause and the pride. Had it not been my grandmom, I might not have been introduced to Tagore. She was knowledgeable enough to recite or sing a relevant song in any occasion. A Vaishnav that she was, she was an avid reader of Tagore and Sri Chaitanya. She even named me – Shyam, my didi – Radha and my second-eldest cousin – Gour Hari. A lady who got married at 11, lost her first child, fought against the acute poverty, built enough confidence in her children to pursue higher education, allow them to go abroad and live their lives. She allegedly never gifted her children any luxury, instead gifted them books. She had her almirah of books and used to read a couple of hours every day even during her last days. She was a stern believer in personal development and freedom of choice. When I could not get admission to a supposedly elite school and my relatives were busy mocking me, Thamma very calmly said – The student studies, school doesn’t. When my ‘mejo jethima’ wanted a divorce after more than 20 years of marriage, she had my grandmother’s support. She had been a very strong character herself, proud of her children, her weak moments include the time in late 1970s, when she asked my father to stay back in Calcutta. Everyone else had relocated. I had hardly seen her express weakness or love. Year 2002, we decided to leave our Gouribari residence and move to Dum dum park. She was left alone with her aid. The first time I went to my new “home” from school, how I wished the bus took left from Ultadanga and took me back to my grandmother. At times, without informing my mother, I used to go to Thamma. The last working day before our school closed for summer vacation was May 16th, 2003. I went to my Gouribari residence. The aid was not there. I climbed up the window, managed to push it open and screamed “Thamma open the door!” She woke up hurriedly from her sleep and murmured “Gourhari, have you come?”. I realised that she was expecting my elder cousin. She loved him the most. That day we talked about my upcoming summer vacation and how she used to spend her summers back in her home, now in Bangladesh. She had many trees. She said she missed that here in Calcutta. I left her promising to come back the day the school re-opened on 16th June. Well, I did go to my Gouribari residence on 16th of June but to only see Thamma for the last time. And perhaps be with her on her last ride. As the only grandson available, I had to be with her till the time my father had to push her into the crematory oven, infront of my eyes. While going to the nursing home, she recited some Tagore poem and her last wish was to meet ‘Gour Hari’. Gour Hari, my mejo dada, definitely did not know of this. Else he would have come. He is now the Director of Strategy, Google. Thamma must be so proud somewhere up there blessing all her grandchildren. I had lost a friend and not till 2008 did I talk properly with anyone. Supporting elders does not necessarily mean giving money for them to survive. One needs to make them feel special by being there with them, live their ideals. They are the ones who helped them become who they are. Think about it.