My grandmother used to tell me about the time she performed in Delhi on Republic Day, 1950. She was just a young artist then, standing on stage in front of Dr. Rajendra Prasad and Prime Minister Nehru. It wasn’t just any performance...it was the first Republic Day of independent India. She said the air felt electric, like the whole country was holding its breath and dreaming together. And there she was, part of it.
She was among the first batch of students at Kalakshetra, learning under Rukmini Devi Arundale herself. That place wasn’t just a school...it was a movement. Rukmini Devi wasn’t just a teacher, she was a force. My grandmother often spoke about how those years shaped her, not just as a dancer, but as a person. Bharatanatyam wasn’t just about steps and mudras; it was about grace, discipline, and carrying something ancient with pride.
What doesn’t make this world feel stronger? A Nation Stronger?
I think Its Independence...and It being called as Republic...
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My grandmother represented the "State of Madras" at that 1950 event and even received an award. I remember her telling me the story with such clarity, like it had happened just yesterday. She had kept the photos from that day tucked away in a steel box for over sixty years. Sadly, the Chennai floods in 2015 washed them away. That box had survived decades, but not that storm. She was heartbroken. So was I.
Apart from dance, she was deeply rooted in Carnatic music. She taught kids in the neighborhood...singing, dancing, whatever she could. It was her side gig, long before we started calling it that. She’d nudge me sometimes, “Learn a little, no?” And I’d always say, “Grandma, once I get some free time…” I never did, and I regret that now.
Funny thing is, she was the first person to teach me about earning through side gigs. Not in a preachy way...just by living it. And she introduced me to books too. I still remember reading “The Famous Five” by Enid Blyton, curled up next to her. Those stories felt magical, but honestly, nothing was more magical than her own life.
What doesn’t make this world feel stronger? Her life in few words..
Although she came from a large family of eleven...three brothers, six sisters, and their parents... she had very limited interaction with them. As the fourth eldest, she didn’t grow up alongside her siblings. During World War II, in 1939, when she was just four years old, my great-grandmother placed her in the custody of an aunt in Bombay. From the age of four until fourteen, she technically had siblings, but the war and her separation meant she rarely saw or connected with them during those formative years.
In 1955, My grandmother was married at just 18, to an elderly man who was 30, at that time. I hesitate to call him my grandfather...he was, biologically, the source of the Y chromosome that gave my father life, but nothing more than that. He wasn’t a presence, not in any meaningful way. From what I’ve been told, he left abruptly and without explanation sometime in early 1956, just 6 months after the marriage to my grandmother. He was a runner, as they say. His character was questionable, and his absence left my grandmother to face the world alone, as a young woman in a conservative society, raising a child without support. Her strength in the face of that abandonment is what truly shaped our family...
Even till her memory serving right, she use to tell me that,"Maybe I got married too young and I think he didn't like being married to a childish character like me!". Never for a second she had complained or said anything bad about that man in her age of 70 and early 80, when I use to riddle her with so many questions about her married life of just 6 months.
Divorce, in many ways, is one such human system, an institution that tests the resilience of relationships in the 21st century.
But there was this woman in my life who defied that narrative. She never remarried, never divorced, and lived with quiet dignity from the age of 20 until her passing just a few weeks ago at 89.
My grandmother was a single mother in an era that offered little support and even less understanding. She raised my father (who was also a single child like me), all alone, navigating the treacherous social terrain of the 1960s and 70s as a woman in her 30s and 40s.
Her strength wasn’t loud... it was steady, unyielding, and deeply rooted in self-respect. She never asked for a divorce, never sought validation from societal norms. She simply lived, endured, and thrived. She was a woman of steel.
Telephone Switch board operators in 1950s
Her professional life was equally remarkable. She worked at the Madras Telephone Exchange as an operator, a role that demanded precision, patience, and linguistic dexterity. She spoke close to ten languages fluently... not as a party trick, but as a necessity of her job and a testament to her intellect. Her voice connected people across the city, and her presence anchored our family. She also worked as librarian in the Theosophical Society for few years and as a stenographer in the TTK Pharma group for many years.
One of her earliest associates who worked in the switch board of the "Trunk Calls" came to her last rites as a farewell to her dear memory. She said, "It is because of your grandmother, I had the ambition to try the job as a stenographer and an operator".
In her final years, dementia began to cloud her memory. After age 87, she struggled to recognize me... especially when I had a beard. I would clean shave just so she could see me as she remembered. Those moments, though fleeting, were precious. Her eyes would light up with recognition, and for a brief moment, the fog would lift.
Stronger In modern times: As I understood from her...
I was a resident of HSR Layout, Bengaluru until July 2025. Life in that vibrant neighborhood had its rhythm...
work, friends, and the quiet comfort of routine.
But sometimes, life calls for a shift that’s deeper than geography. Due to my grandmother’s declining health and the responsibility I carry as an only grand child, I made the decision to move to Chennai to be with my parents.
It wasn’t just a relocation...it was a return to roots, to family, and to the woman who shaped so much of who I am.
She passed away on 5th September 2025, just four days short of her 90th birthday. The house feels quieter now. Her smile, once a daily comfort, is now a memory I carry with me. I miss her deeply...not just for who she was to me, but for the legacy of strength, grace, and resilience she leaves behind.
In a world that often measures worth by status or success, she taught me that dignity lies in endurance, in choosing love over bitterness, and in standing tall even when the world tries to bend you. I carry her story with pride.
And I hope, in some way, to live up to the example she set.
Her name was..... Gnanam. Which translates to Wisdom.. But I think it should be a life time of Knowledge as an exact translation!
During 2018, when she was enjoying retirement life!
During a cousin wedding in 2019