I have been one of those fortunate children to have grown up with the love of not two, but three grandmothers.
I lost one of them over the weekend to lung cancer.
The irony of it all – she never smoked a cigarette in her life.
A gynecologist, she delivered me at our home hospital in Bombay. I was the first granddaughter in the house.
She spoilt me rotten with bhindi until I was three.
I was the only child ever allowed to sit in the corner of the operation room when she was doing surgery.
She put my photos growing up around the house. Some that are still seen today, 24 years later.
She would listen to anything I said, however I said it, even if I would fight. A privilege very few had.
She believed in the saving the environment and looking after street children.
Losing someone shouldn´t be part of life, don´t you think?