By Suvir Saran
New Delhi [India], Match 26 : Chaman Lal Bhardwaj, my Nana, his life was a masterclass in curiosity, a symphony of seeking, a relentless pursuit of knowledge not for power, not for profit, but for the sheer pleasure of understanding the world in all its nuance, its contradictions, its constantly shifting tides. He was a man of maps and manuscripts, of newspapers and novels, of conversations that stretched beyond continents, beyond generations, beyond the limits of time itself. Born in Lahore, educated at Government College--an institution he carried in his heart with the pride of a man who knew the value of a fine education--Nana traversed history with a rare grace, a rare hunger, a rare ability to absorb and evolve, never remaining static, never content with what he already knew.
He walked through life with the poise of a man who understood decorum yet never let convention dull his spirit. He served in His Majesty's Armed Forces in occupied Japan, witnessed the aftermath of war not just through the cold lens of duty but through the warm, watchful gaze of someone who sought to understand rather than judge. He worked with the Publications Division, the Censor Board, the Government of India as an Information Officer, moving through corridors of policy and press, yet never letting bureaucracy blunt his curiosity. He was not a man of excess, yet he indulged in life's pleasures with a quiet, cultivated joy--the kind of joy that does not come from opulence but from appreciation, from the knowledge that a life well-lived is not measured in extravagance but in the ability to savor the small, the subtle, the simple.
Nana had a way of weaving together the seemingly incompatible. He was an Anglophile and a Gandhian, a believer in discipline yet a man who delighted in spontaneity, a student of Vedanta who came to it late in life yet seemed to have absorbed its truths long before he ever read them. He changed his clothes two or three times a day--not out of vanity, but out of reverence for the rhythm of life, out of an understanding that each moment, each meal, each meeting deserved its own dignity. He shaved every morning until the very end, not because he had to, but because he believed in the small rituals that tether us to ourselves, to our self-respect, to the quiet grace of being present in our own lives.
And yet, for all his meticulousness, Nana was never rigid. He flowed with the times, adapted with ease, embraced the new without discarding the old. When he moved to America later in life, he did not grieve for what he had left behind but instead found his place in a world that was not his own, yet became his own because he refused to remain an outsider. He was a citizen of curiosity, a man who belonged to no singular time, no singular place, no singular ideology.
What made him extraordinary was not just the breadth of his knowledge, but the depth of his engagement with people. He was not just my grandfather; he was a friend, a confidant, a man whose company left an imprint on all who met him. He flirted with women with the charm of a gentleman from another era, he commiserated with men with the wisdom of someone who had seen the world shift beneath his feet, he spoke to house help and high-ranking officials with the same warmth, the same attentiveness, the same deep, unwavering belief that every person carried a story worth hearing. At gatherings, he was never just a presence; he was a force, a quiet conductor orchestrating conversations with the kind of effortless ease that only comes to those who truly listen.
Too often, we live our lives in silos, surrounded by those who mirror our own views, our own experiences, our own limitations. Nana refused to be confined by such walls. He built bridges where others built barriers. He engaged, he inquired, he expanded his world by expanding his understanding of the people within it. And in a world that now thrives on division, on echo chambers, on digital dialogues that reduce rather than enrich, his way of moving through life feels not just admirable but necessary.
What, then, can we learn from him? What blueprint does his life offer for those of us searching for meaning, for depth, for a way to move through this increasingly frenetic world with both wisdom and wonder? Stay curious. Stay open. Never stop learning. Read beyond your comfort zone, travel beyond your borders, listen beyond your own voice. Adapt, evolve, let the changing tides of time not drown you, but carry you forward. Find joy in the small, the subtle, the seemingly insignificant, for it is there that the true richness of life resides. Cultivate connection--not just with those who think like you, live like you, believe like you, but with those who challenge you, who show you a world you would not have otherwise seen. And above all, live with dignity. Not in a way that is performative, not in a way that seeks approval, but in a way that respects the rhythm of life, that values the rituals of self-care, that honors the importance of showing up fully, wholly, without apology.
Nana passed away at 92, not from illness or age but from a simple fall in the shower, and even then, I cannot help but feel that had fate not intervened, he would have lived to be a hundred, a hundred and ten, perhaps even more. He had the spirit for it. But longevity alone is not the measure of a life well-lived. It is the depth of its imprint, the breadth of its influence, the way it continues to shape those who remain. And by that measure, Nana lives on--not just in our memories, but in the lessons he left behind, in the kind of life he showed us was possible.
So if you find yourself lost, uninspired, searching for meaning in the midst of the mundane, take a page from his book. Seek knowledge not for its prestige, but for its power to transform. Engage with the world not as a passive observer, but as an eager participant. Live in a way that, when you are gone, you do not just leave behind memories--you leave behind a map, a guide, a testament to what it means to live fully, thoughtfully, and without fear. (ANI/ Suvir Saran)
Disclaimer: Suvir Saran is a Masterchef, Author, Hospitality Consultant And Educator. The views expressed in this article are his own.