Every year, August 15th is celebrated as a holiday in our country. While we, as Indians, get busy making plans for a vacation, we often forget the pain and horrors of Partition that our grandparents endured. We did not struggle to win freedom—our part was nil—but their stories carried memories of lost homes and shattered lives, something my generation and the ones to come may never truly understand.
With the passing of all my grandparents, I feel as though a piece of my own existence has gone with them. They connected us through their endless love—the joy of raising grandchildren, the warmth of big joint families, the ethnic dishes they lovingly cooked, and the wisdom of their life experiences. Their presence was pure bliss.
When my dadu (grandfather) suffered from dementia, he slowly drifted into memories of his old house and days in Sindh. He forgot most family members—but not me. I miss him every single day. I miss my dadima, my ami, my nanu, and my nani. My dadu was part of India’s freedom struggle and strongly believed in open mud gyms, where health of both body and mind was nurtured. People like him were priceless jewels.
Today, in an age of babysitters, easy money, and social media distractions, our only way to truly honor their love and struggle is to build India into a strong nation—mentally, spiritually, and physically. That would be the real tribute to their sacrifices.
#purelove
#Sindhu
#Sindh
#Sindhi
#Mohenjodaro
#Larkana
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