What My Grandfather Taught Me About Giving

My maternal grandfather, my Nanaji, was the wisest, most considerate person I’ll ever have the honor of knowing. He introduced me to the world of yoga and meditation. He taught me the importance of living life with purpose. He showed me how to treat everyone I encounter with fairness and love.

Nanaji passed away this September at the age of 87 after suffering a stroke the month before. After the initial shock and grief of his sudden passing, I started to think about what I had learned from him — and what I wished I had asked. Most of it revolves around the way he seamlessly incorporated giving into his life.

For much of his life, Nanaji did not have an abundance of cash sitting in the bank. He was trained as a lawyer, and he would show up outside a New Delhi courthouse many days to search for potential clients. At home, his wife — my Naniji — would walk an hour everyday to get basics like milk. She sewed most of her children’s clothes, and knew how to peel a potato so as to waste virtually none of its flesh. In her kitchen, every grain of rice was accounted for.

Nanaji and Naniji grew up at a time in India when girls were regularly given limited access to education. But Nanaji was not a man of his time: he made sure his four daughters attended the best schools they could afford and went to college. They were huge believers in education — it’s part of the reason why they left their family in Saharanpur, a mid-size town in Uttar Pradesh, and moved to India’s bustling capital.

Nanaji grew up in a small town, and saw firsthand how knowledge could expand his worldview. He was always excited to learn and embrace modernity. Two years ago, when my aunt gave him an iPad, he happily joined Gmail and Facebook.

Nanaji and Naniji worked tirelessly to expand educational opportunities for others — even when it meant cutting back at home. On any special occasion, they would host lunches at schools for underprivileged children. Once on his birthday, my sister and I served over 500 teens not much younger than we were. There wasn’t any time for ego or self-satisfaction. We were just doing the work, much the same way our grandparents did. I started to understand that giving was just the right thing to do.

Nanaji also foot school bills for several children he saw as promising scholars. One of them spoke at his funeral. Nanaji had paid for his schooling since the age of 11, and he said he owes his PhD and life course to him. Naniji, meanwhile, would gather nearby street children to teach Hindi and arithmetics. I remember overhearing her gently scolding kids for poor handwriting and praising them for perfect times tables.

More than the time and money they put into their giving, I was always impressed with the care with which they did it. I’ve learned so much from watching them talk to people from all backgrounds and ages. They treated everyone with incredible dignity and grace.

I loved watching how people would respond to being treated like a real human being, especially those who don’t often get such treatment in India. They were often surprised. I noticed that people’s posture would immediately change, and that they became more careful with their words.

Nanaji always saw people for who they were from the inside, and not from any external markings of wealth or power. It’s something I hope we can all learn from.

There are so many questions I wish I could ask Nanaji about his giving. I want to know his journey into his philanthropy. I want to know how he made sure his own family had enough before spending on others — or whether he just trusted the universe to figure it out. I want to know what made him realize the importance of education in particular. I want to know how his religion and spirituality played a role in his giving.

But I’ll always have questions. I’ll instead focus on how endlessly grateful I am to have his example as I think about my own philanthropy (which, to be totally honest, feels paltry in comparison). I’ll miss Nanaji forever, but am confident he left the world a better place by stepping foot in it.