The name itself has raja in it, and she was a true maharaja, though she never wore a crown. Now she is no more. My 82-year-old grandmother has left to the lotus feet of Bhagvaan, and I write this so you know the life she lived.

She came from a remote village, born to a family dependent on agriculture and a small kirana shop, with no prior experience in running a business. They survived by working hard to earn every single penny and saving for the future. She was the eldest and the only survivor of her siblings, having watched most of them pass away at different stages of life. She was so responsible that she took full care of her mother, who was left all alone because her other siblings and their families never stepped up.

Married at a young age into a family that was also not rich, she and her husband strived hard for every meal. Raising four kids and surviving was not an easy task. To save pennies, she and my grandfather used to walk miles carrying heavy goods for their kirana store in the village. At one point, she was sent to stay at Kanakavva’s (her sister-in-law’s) home to help fix certain family challenges. She didn’t just sit quietly: she took on the responsibility and learned trade secrets and business lessons from her sister-in-law.

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In most of my conversations with her, she always credited Kanakavva for those early lessons.

When she returned home with four kids to raise, life was full of hurdles, but she turned every single challenge into an opportunity for growth. She worked hard and also delegated few of the household tasks to children, making them realize early on that every single penny had value. From making cow dung cakes at home to selling produce in angadis, selling masalas in the village, and trading grains, she always looked to empower everyone around her.

When two of her boys wanted higher education in town, she and her eldest son supported them by working even harder and saving every penny for their aspirations. That elder son grew from operating puncture shops to selling masalas in angadis, and eventually trading grains on a much larger scale. When the opportunity came to buy land for the entire family in a town and a prominent place, they bought it together without hesitating for a single moment.

On this barren land, she and her husband poured their sweat: sieving sand, procuring materials, carrying heavy loads on their shoulders, and protecting every gram of material to construct the house. Every penny she saved in her life was used to build houses for every boy in the family, entirely ignoring to secure her own future.

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Then came the turning point. Her elder son, who was her biggest support, suffered a brain stroke, and her own health started failing post-COVID. By the way, she had never taken a single medicine tablet in her entire life until her ill health after COVID.

Now, the homes she built grew to be worth crores, but as her body weakened, the atmosphere in her sons’ families changed. The woman who built the very foundation beneath their feet received no support from them. She was reduced to surviving on a small monthly old-age pension. When people discussed what to do next, the families miscreated her words and attributed wrong things to her.

What wrong did she do? Her only crime was giving away everything she had until nothing was left for herself.

She was hesitant to become a burden and tried to stay back in the village. But her daughter and son-in-law: my Amma and Nanna, took care of her without a second thought, seeing her struggle with her health and unable to make ends meet on a meager pension.

For me as one of her grandkids, I was always treated like a raja. Until our grade 10, me and my cousins used to spend almost every summer and winter at our grandmother’s home, staying for 45 to 60 days every year. As a grandmother, she cared for us with endless love: delicious food, mangoes in summer, custard apples in winter, and biscuits from her kirana store. We used to gain a couple of kilograms every single visit.

She was also one of my greatest gurus in business. Traveling with her to nearby towns to procure items for the kirana shop was a true masterclass. With no Excel sheets or software to track hundreds of products, she had a sharp focus in her mind: rough calculations of inventory, knowing what to procure based on what was fast-selling versus slow-selling, how to bargain, and how to build relationships with suppliers beyond just business.

While most grandparents only pamper their grandkids, she made sure we stayed grounded. During summer festivals when the whole village was on the roads, even though our family had become privileged by then, she never forgot her roots. She gave us the hands-on experience of making laddus, gup chups, and papads, and having us sell them to the villagers. She taught us how to work and how to earn money. Ironically, those same cousins did not even assist her in her old age.

In her final days, despite all her struggles, she stayed vigilant and fiercely independent. She could have demanded things, but she always simply said, “I will eat whatever was cooked.” She was so fond of different tastes, sweets, and savories, and I am glad that until her last breath, she enjoyed the food she loved.

Grandmothers and grandfathers are the greatest hidden assets in our lives, even when they might not be relevant in your life. When we take the time to truly listen to them and leverage their years of experience and expertise, they share an endless abundance of practical thoughts, lived resilience, and rich stories that no textbook can ever teach.

Rajavva may have left her physical body, but the mind of my grand mother, the warmth of her kitchen, and the lessons of her journey will stay with us forever.