For the Love That Lives On

Remembering Nani

“Death ends a life, not a relationship. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on- in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.”

―Morrie Schwartz

My Nani, Hemlata Dobhal, passed away on the morning of 26th October 2024. In the quiet, stunned silence, grief rises that words cannot fully hold. It feels too raw, too tender. How does one write about someone so close to their heart? How do words—my greatest strength—even begin to do her justice? For the first time, my pen feels uncertain, struggling to make sense of this loss.

I am shaken. It comes in waves, fresh each time I remember she’s truly gone. Moving from a world with Nani in it to one without feels impossible. I still feel the chill that crept over me when I heard the news, the way the world went silent. She was everything a matriarch should be. I never knew my grandfather—he lives on only through family stories and love—and I wonder sometimes if he would have liked me as she did. Would we have shared a bond as dear as the one I had with Nani? She had the best sense of humour and could turn anything into laughter, her wheeze-laugh so infectious it would bring tears to her eyes and everyone else’s. She was fiercely brave, living independently after her husband passed, carrying herself with the grace of a woman who truly knew herself.

Even as her body succumbed to illness, her mind stayed sharp, her wit and passion for knowledge undimmed. She was a remarkable woman who leaves behind a legacy of love and resilience, a memory cherished by all who had the honour to know her. I hope she’s now with Nanaji, carrying my love and my greeting to him at peace and without any pain.

This isn’t just grief of the present; it’s a sorrow that has been building quietly, a slow ache as I watched her life and laughter fade over time. I mourn not only the loss of her presence but also the life she deserved—a life free from pain, filled with the same love and joy she so effortlessly shared with the world. I hope she left this world knowing just how deeply she was cherished, by her children, her grandchildren, and everyone fortunate enough to have felt the warmth of her light. Everyone in our family is struggling to cope with the enormity of this loss; her presence was woven so deeply into our lives. I hope she knew the profound impact she had on my life.

She was the coolest soul I knew, open-minded, compassionate, and kind— She looked beyond human differences, beyond religion, beyond whom someone chose to love or what they chose to be. She hated intolerance, despised news of injustice, and always sympathized with the less privileged with an awareness about the world with empathy.

She never dismissed my ideas as youthful or naïve. Instead, she engaged me in meaningful conversations, valuing my thoughts despite her vast experience offering me insights, meeting me right where I was. Nani always made me feel that I was enough. She believed in me—not out of an expectation for greatness, but because she genuinely saw it in me. She would joke that she wasn't worried about my future because she trusted my instincts, unlike some of her other grandchildren whom she wished would have a bit more guidance. I laughed then, reveling in the joy of her unwavering trust, even as a teenager knowing she is saying this just to please me and make me laugh. How I wish I’d had the chance to prove her right. But I know she will always be with me, guiding my heart and steering me forward.

I hope she remains that quiet, steady voice in my mind during life’s challenges when doubt threatens to overwhelm me. I hope she wraps me in her embrace when I need her most, bringing my childhood memories flooding back and offering comfort. There’s no love quite like the unconditional love of a grandparent, and in her love, I find the strength to carry on.

I’ll hold on to our memories: the nights we laughed over TV shows, the meals we shared, her scolding me as I teased her for wanting “just one more” paratha. She was my first karate teacher, always defeating me easily, making me even more in awe of her. I will never forget our moments in Doon Vihar, her home in Dehradun, the way I’d crave her special white butter in Hyderabad, and how she always had a stack ready, hot parathas to accompany it. I will remember running with her to the milk truck on summer evenings and eating dinner with her daily after coming back from basketball when she stayed with us in Hyderabad. The times when it was just the two of us, as my parents travelled—I’ve had some of my best memories simply being by her side. I’ll cherish every moment, from our games when I was little to the honour of holding her at her final rest. Even as the last memories haunt me—the way she looked in those final moments—I would do it again, because it meant I got to be with her one last time.

I am so glad I have photos and videos of her laughing and joking. These memories are my most cherished, and even the pain of losing her feels, in its own way, like a privilege—because to love is a privilege. As they say, grief is simply love’s way of showing us what we had and how deeply we felt. I don’t know if this loss will ever truly ease or if I’ll just learn to carry it differently. Even now, a simple thought or mention of her brings tears. Talking about her stirs up such ache, but that doesn’t mean I won’t speak of her; I will do so with pride not matter what.

Morrie once said, “If you hold back on the emotions—if you don’t allow yourself to go all the way through them—you can never get to being detached, you’re too busy being afraid. You’re afraid of the pain, you’re afraid of the grief. You’re afraid of the vulnerability that loving entails.” This journey through grief is teaching me that to love fully means embracing all of it—the joy, the pain, and the quiet courage it takes to feel it all. But as these tears flow, filling the emptiness in my heart, I want to finally say this:

Nani, thank you for being my rock, my guide to strength and joy. You were the best grandmother I could have asked for, and though this goodbye feels unbearable, your love and memory will stay with me, woven into my heart. I’ll miss you more than words can express. I’ll carry our laughter close, along with all the little moments that made life beautiful. I will try to keep the love alive in our family as you would have wanted. I promise to take care of mummy, keeping you in my heart for the rest of my life and passing that love on to everyone I meet. You always wanted a beautiful photo of yourself displayed in our mandirs, and I hope you’d approve of the one we chose. This is how I’ll remember you—graceful, ever-smiling and radiant, a woman whose beauty only deepened with time. To me, you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

Goodbye, Nani. I’ll see you on the other side. Save some ice cream for me.