As a product of the 20th and 21st century, I have been closely associated with words such as ‘mobility’, ‘meritocracy’, ‘connectivity’ and ‘personal growth’. These are buzz words by which I, and many members of my generation, have lived their lives. From an early age, we have learnt the value of setting and achieving tangible goals, at the same time maintaining a wide network of friends and associates with whom we have shared memories around the world. In other words, to excuse the cliché, we grew up “working hard and partying harder”. Our families and backgrounds were of some importance to us, but usually the focus of our life was on the future, rather than the past.
Not that there is anything wrong with living life with a healthy progressive attitude, but recently my family was hit by a number of deaths – of respected senior members – which made us all step back, pause and reflect on how far we had come, and from where. My family originated in India, where they lived in a joint family system. At the time of partition, much of the family moved to Pakistan. The joint family system was maintained in Pakistan; but eventually family members moved to North America and Europe and lost touch. The joint family system was replaced by the ‘nucleus’ family system, and even members of ‘nucleus’ families were spread across continents. Family weddings became one of the few moments of reunion.
I was one of the lucky ones: although both my grandfathers passed away before I was born, my maternal grandmother lived with us for 25 years. Through long much-treasured discussions with her, I learnt of her life and the lives of other family members in India and post-partition Pakistan. Although my grandmother spent much of her life indoors looking after the family, she was involved in several community events and even attended a political rally where Gandhi and Nehru were present. She would often criticise the individualism and modernity of our generation and I would laugh it off as the natural reaction of a person from her generation. However, to be fair to her, my grandmother (who had only studied up to secondary school) was very independent and capable, to the extent of teaching herself how to read and write English, maneuver her way through life, and hold the family together – after my grandfather’s death. Moreover, my grandma had her carefree moments and big-hearted joy that, as my sister and I comment wryly, we probably lost somewhere between our SAT I and CFA exams.
In 2008, my grandmother passed away, leaving a huge void amongst her children and grandchildren. About a year later, my paternal grandmother, who was enjoying fairly good health, passed away suddenly. The family, now spread around the world, came together at the time of her funeral, either in person, or on the phone, e-mail (and even Facebook) in celebrating her life and rekindling old memories. She was one of the last ‘elders’ of the family and it hit many of us, that indeed an age was passing. As we met our family members, friends and cousins that we had not seen in years, and reconnected, there was a subconscious sense of belonging and affection, and we promised to keep in touch. Even in their passing away, these family elders were bringing us all together – and perhaps watching us from heaven, with a smile on their faces.
Whatever the cause and effect, the remaining heads of our family were gone. Perhaps their lives had been very different from that of our generation, particularly given the emancipation of women that has occurred in the last few decades. Indeed, the girls of my generation have mostly all done their Masters and enjoyed international careers, whereas our grandmother’s greatest achievements had been in the sphere of home and hearth. Yet, the qualities of sacrifice, patience, giving, sharing and camaraderie that they possessed, were timeless. They had followed traditions and expected us to do the same in many cases. That tradition had kept generations linked together through an international support-network, as we realized at their hugely attended funerals.
As I left my family house last month after my grandmother’s funeral, I saw red rose petals in the courtyard. The petals were from the garlands that had been laid on my grandma’s body as she was taken to her final resting place by all the men in the family. As I looked at the petals, an age flashed before me, made up of stories that I had heard of the past: children playing in the garden as the ladies sat together and gossiped over tea or waited for the men to come back from work, hectic preparations for family weddings, carloads heading off to the beach over weekends and the ladies sitting at the shore as the kids and men played near the sea. Those women were very much like the petals: lovely but strong, they left a lasting fragrance in the courtyard. God bless them wherever they are now.