Homes are defined by grace & dignity

THE recent deluge in Punjab reminded me of the time when my village faced the fury of floods almost two decades ago. Our house stood on the outskirts, surrounded by lush-green fields, and was considered one of the safest. But as the water began rising, panic set in. Many villagers fled in search of safer ground. However, my grandmother refused to leave. She said firmly, “I would rather die in my home than leave it.” We felt helpless, yet her determination prompted us to stay.

That night, when everyone was asleep, floodwater entered half of our one-acre house. As the water kept rising, our hearts sank deeper. We prayed endlessly. By dawn, the water began to recede, but what it left behind was not just mud and stains. It left scars etched on our walls, our belongings and our memories. The foul smell lingered long after, refusing to leave. Finally, we had no choice but to tear the house down and rebuild.

Rebuilding was not easy. Ours was a joint family of four generations and the recent expenses of a wedding had already drained our resources. Everyone had ideas about architecture, interiors and design. But as was the unspoken rule, the final decision rested with the head of our family — my Tauji. His verdict was simple: the house would be rebuilt traditionally, reusing as much material as possible. There would be no extravagance.

This decision caused ripples of dissatisfaction. The eldest boy in the family, deeply unhappy, left for the UK and never returned. Many criticised Tauji for being harsh, for not listening to others. I too, in my childish understanding, felt uneasy with his choice.

One evening, sensing my unrest, he spoke to me gently, “A person should not spend on a house to show off to society. Money once spent is gone forever. If the floods return, will we rebuild again under debt? I want to save enough so that if we must face this again, we can stand tall without fear.”

At that time, I could not fully grasp his wisdom. But now years later, and with Tauji no more, those words echo in my heart and mind. His foresight has become my guiding light.

Today, as Punjab again grapples with devastation, I feel his advice is more relevant than ever. Families rebuilding their homes must be wise. This is not the time to be drowned by societal pressures or the temptation of showmanship. A house is not a monument to display wealth — it is a shelter and a source of dignity.

Poet Nissim Ezekiel wrote, “Home is where we have to gather grace.” Grace does not come from grandeur but from resilience, simplicity and the love that binds a family within four walls. For the people of Punjab, rebuilding wisely today will ensure that tomorrow, even if nature tests us again, our homes and our spirits will endure.