My Grandfather's Journals

Last month, I visited my hometown to spend time with my parents and in-laws, and to celebrate all the festivals of October with them. Little did I know that I wouldn’t just be creating memories but would end up reading them too.

While staying with my parents, my usual need to read novels kicked in (I need a good novel at the end of the day). So, my father and I went to the attic to hunt for my old novels. While digging through the hoards to books, I stumbled upon something much more precious – my grandfather’s journals. A stack of them. Written from 1983 to 2005, every single day, till the day he passed away.

I have only just begun reading them, but whatever I have come across so far has left me speechless. His grammar, his choice of words, his handwriting, his everyday life… It made me realise how simple, grounded and slow life used to be. Those times were so different than ours, no facilities, not much technology, and people were so simple. Just pure living.

I flipped through the few dates (out of curiosity!) to see where all I have been mentioned. The day I was born, my birthdays, other special occasions, and so much more… It’s all there. All recorded in his handwriting… my childhood unfolding through his eyes.

I was only 10 years old when my grandfather passed away, and whatever I remember of him now feels like just a tiny fraction of who he really was. A kind and humble person, with the personality of a strict teacher (even though he worked in administration in SAIL). I always admired him, but reading his journals has made me feel him again. His thoughts, his worries, his little joys. It’s like he’s sitting right next to me as I turn each page.

Finding these journals has been nothing short of a treasure. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll share a few snippets from this trove in the upcoming blogs. Because some stories deserve to be told, even decades later.

Here’s a sneak peak.