My grandmother died and I have so many regrets.
The biggest being that I won't ever be able to hug her again.
T/W: death, grief, loss
Some days, it’s easy to just go through the motions. Get up, feed the pets, unload the dishwasher, sit at my desk, rinse and repeat.
Other days, like yesterday, a random song on a random playlist reminds me of her and how little time we had together.
In my first year of law school, I was home from break, and in the middle of the night we got the call that my grandfather passed away. I lost a part of me I didn’t know I needed that day. My grandfather was ALWAYS excited about my big plans for life. He was the one person I knew would say “wow, that’s my granddaughter!” And I believed in me because I believed him unconditionally. He deserved so much more than he received in this life, and I regretted that ALS took him from us.
After he died, I developed this compulsive habit to keep my phone on me all the time. I never turn on 'sleep’ mode and I rarely stop notifications because what if something happened to someone else in my family and I missed it?
When my father called to tell me that my grandmother died, I didn’t want to pick up the phone. I knew something was wrong. And I was so ANGRY with myself that I didn’t go out to Long Island to see her one last time when I knew she wasn’t doing well. There was always something that stood in the way. Except now I won’t ever have another chance to see her again.
This time, I feel like I’ve lost something even bigger. I’ve lost a living legacy. She was my last surviving grandparent, and arguably, the one who I spent the most time with.
Growing up, my grandmother would say ‘you’re just like me. you’re just like your Nani.’ I resented it sometimes because while she was alive, I saw a lot of the flaws. I didn’t want to be JUST like her. I wanted to be my own person. But in the days since she’s passed, I’ve come to appreciate that she saw so much of herself in me as her legacy. And that maybe, just maybe I am like her.
So here are a few things I learned from my grandmother in the thirty seven years I was blessed to have her in my life. These are things I realize that I try to model and that came from her.
When it comes to personal success, no means yes, and yes means yes. If my grandmother wanted something, she went after it with ferocity. When she didn’t have the money to build a better life outside of India, she sold her wedding jewelry for a train ticket. When she needed a job in London, she taught herself English to get one. And when she wanted to work in New York City, she opened her own imports shop.
My father told this story at her funeral, that when he came to the states after marrying my mom, the window for applying for residencies had closed. My grandmother drove him to every hospital in Manhattan so he could knock on doors to get a residency position. And when people were racist and mean, she brushed it off and said ‘keep going.’ He secured a residency position that day.
Always be an adventurer. When I tell you, my grandmother had gone to places that people only dream of, I’m not exaggerating. She loved to travel. To remote villages, the seven wonders of the world, and to random shows in Las Vegas. Even when she had limited mobility, she was the first in line to book a trip somewhere. The best part? She was excited on each and every trip. For her eightieth birthday, we took her to Disney World. She went on the It’s a Small World ride, and when we finished, my sister asked her if she liked it. She said in Hindi, “I never even dreamed that something like this could ever exist.” This! Coming from a woman who explored some of the most remote temples in India. Looking back, I’m so grateful she set the example of embracing adventure and appreciating opportunity.
Have faith in family. This one is a little hard for me to process because sometimes she had unwavering loyalty to people that honestly didn’t deserve her time of day. (And if they’re reading this, then I hope they know I wish them nothing but misfortune because I’m not as forgiving as my grandmother) But she truly believed that some of the best memories are when everyone was together for the holidays. It’s because of her I loved Christmas as much as I do. And not because of the trees or the gifts, even though that’s cool too. But because she always made sure we were TOGETHER. And I have the best relationship with my siblings and my aunt/uncle/cousins because she made that happen.
I know so many South Asian friends who weren’t blessed with that kind of legacy, and I’m truly grateful that I am. I wish I appreciated it more when I had it. Now, I have memories and the grief of knowing that there won’t be a get together where I’ll tackle her in the biggest hug that was always welcome with open arms.
I swear when it’s super quiet, and I’m thinking of her, I can still hear the sound of her giggle when she was happy.
Rest in peace, M.T. Punj (1939-2022).
Some author things:
I have a few events coming up in person (August 18 and August 20) if you’re in the Bucks County, Pennsylvania area. Check my events page more for more information.
I’ll be doing cover reveals soon for the next Shakespeare book (Tastes Like Shakkar), a holiday novella set in the world of The Singh Family, and the re-launch of My So-Called Bollywood Life for its five year anniversary. Keep an eye out here for all of that information.
I know some of you are looking for part 2 of my Folklore Album inspired romance, but I just couldn’t write something new today (or for the past two weeks.)
This excerpt is from The Karma Map ©Nisha Sharma / Skyscape Publishing, which is my next YA contemporary romance that comes out in March 2023. It’s dedicated to my grandparents.
Tara looked out the window at the New Delhi airport outer buildings in the distance. The creeping electricity she used to feel as a child traveling to India began to sizzle through her.
She was in India. The unfamiliar familiar. No matter how miserable she was on all the long treks to remote religious sites, joy bloomed in her heart whenever she landed in the dusty, smoggy city where her parents had been born. Her sister had written her a postcard about it once.
I’ve traveled all over the world now, but there is something about India that makes me feel like every part of me is accepted and loved. I am a foreigner in a foreign land with a celebrated common ancestry.
Savitri would’ve loved having this moment with her.
The buzz of the students added a spring to her step, even in the slog of passengers getting their carry-ons and disembarking from the plane.
Almost an hour and a half later, through customs and baggage claim, Tara stepped outside the gates and into the noisy heat and bustle of New Delhi. Her spirit weightless—however briefly—at the feeling of home.
Didi was right. Even though Tara had been born and raised in the US, there was something magical about being in a place where everyone looked like you and spoke the same languages.
The rickshaws and cars crowded the roadways, ignoring any semblance of lines. Hand carts pushed along the outskirts of the terminal exits piled high with burlap bags of produce. The smell of diesel and dust was a familiar welcome.
“Holy shit,” Silas said as he rolled his bag next to hers. “Neil wasn’t kidding. It’s a sauna here. I hope we have air conditioning.”
Despite the soft breeze, sweat was beginning to trickle down her back. “Maybe.”
Silas’s mouth dropped. “Maybe? What do you mean, maybe?”
Before Tara could respond, a bus pulled up in front of the curb with red letters painted on the side: “NC Pilgrimages.” The paint looked new, and it had large, tinted windows.
The accordion doors opened with a hiss, and a blast of cool air spilled out. Behind the wide, flat wheel sat a small woman with a long black braid, red sindoor streaked down her center hairline, and a small gold nose ring that matched her tiny gold hoops.
“Welcome to India!” The woman said, her voice soft but filled with excitement.
“Chaya!” Neil shouted over the crowd. “Everyone, this is the second tour lead, Chaya. Chaya is my wife and will be driving us.”
“Thank god.”
“I’m dying.”
“My hair!”
“Is it going to be like this for the next two months?”
“Okay, I’m not that bad, right?” Silas murmured, nudging Tara.
“Oh, you absolutely are, Mr. Air Conditioning.”
He laughed. The sound made a few students turn to look at them with curiosity.
She waited for Silas and Chaya to open the luggage bays and began ushering kids to drop off their bags and get on the bus, as requested.
When the kids gave her a wide berth, her gut twisted. Did they know about her past? About her reputation? Especially if they were connected to the same temple and lived in the same area in New Jersey. Or was it just because she hadn’t talked to any of them, and they didn’t want to get to know her? She had become so paranoid over the last few months.
After the group boarded, Tara rolled her suitcase past Silas and Neil, who had been filling the luggage bay, and lifted her bag before sliding it neatly in the last remaining spot. She stepped back and dusted off her hands.
The guys looked at her with strange expressions.
“What? Is there more luggage?”
“I wondered if you meant what you said in your interview about not being afraid of some heavy lifting,” Neil responded.
She figured she’d give him the benefit of the doubt and chalk up his comment to generalized misogyny that plagued so many Indian men. “How long is it to the hotel?” she asked in Hindi.
Neil checked his watch and wobbled his head back and forth as if debating. “It will take at least forty-five minutes.”
“Thank you.” She boarded the bus, welcoming the cooler air. The cloth seats were new, with overhead storage for their backpacks. Everyone piled in the rear of the bus, leaving a few empty spots up front. Tara ignored the curious looks, even though they felt like pressure on a bruise, and took a seat closest to the window on the left.
Her headphones were already blasting Taylor’s Reputation album when Silas sat next to her. She scooted over to give his long legs more space. He said something, but she couldn’t hear him.
She needed a moment. Just a few minutes to remember why she was here and why no one’s opinion of her mattered.
The shifting city outside her window grabbed her attention.
It had been over a year since her last trip to India, and it was comforting to see the colors and chaos again. Despite their disagreements, Tara’s parents created a deep love for being Desi, nourishing and caring for it in their home, in their community, and in their souls. But in the US, it was like houseplants: vibrant and alive in pockets of rooms. Here, under the bright sun, their culture was as free and immersive as a jungle. It didn’t need constant work and attention because it surrounded her growing and breathing on its own.
When the bus stopped in front of a large white building sandwiched between shops, she let out another sigh of relief. Unlike the temple visits with her parents and the one she was forced to go on as a rising freshman four years before, she wouldn’t have to stay in shared living spaces or hostels. The pandemic, and an influx of donations to the temple, had changed that.
More importantly, junior guides got to stay in their own rooms.
After they exited the bus and unloaded all the luggage, Tara followed the group into the foyer of the hotel.
Chaya, the badass bus driver that she was, managed to park quickly and meet them near the reception desk, where they handed over their passports to get checked in.
Her smile was sweet and welcoming, as were warm, deep brown eyes lined with black kajal. “Are you all ready to embark on your spiritual journey?”
Neil was the only one who cheered and clapped in response.