Part 11 of 19 in Trust Yourself: A Guide for Indian Parents← Part 10Part 12 →
I’ve been thinking about the role of grandparents in the contemporary Indian family, a topic that seems to oscillate between reverence and irrelevance depending on whom you ask. Just the other week, I observed a scene in my own family that captured this tension perfectly. My mother, a grandmother of considerable experience, was in the midst of a lively debate with my wife about our young son’s diet. My wife, armed with the latest nutritional guidelines, argued for a diet rich in variety and modern sensibilities. My mother, on the other hand, advocated for time-tested foods that had nourished generations. As I watched, I realized that this was not just a debate about food; it was a microcosm of a larger conversation about tradition, modernity, and the battle for influence in parenting.
In India, the expert with the strongest claim is often in the next room. She raised you, and she may well be raising your child while you navigate the complexities of earning a living. The temptation to dismiss her as outdated or to abdicate all decision-making to her is strong, but both approaches are fundamentally flawed. Contempt is a stupid strategy. So is abdication.
I find myself reflecting on the wisdom of grandparents and how we can integrate it without losing the benefits of contemporary knowledge. It’s not an easy balance to strike. In some ways, it reminds me of the challenges I face in the world of IVF and angel investing. Both domains require a careful weighing of evidence and intuition, a respect for both experience and innovation. In IVF, the science is clear but the human element often defies logic. Similarly, in startups, data can inform but never replace the gut instinct that comes with experience.
A grandmother in Madurai once massaged her grandchild every morning with warm oil, a practice she believed essential for the baby’s health. The child’s mother, however, questioned the scientific validity of this ritual. But when she paused to observe, she noticed that the baby seemed calmer, more content after these massages. The child leaned into it, and the sleep that followed was deep and restful. The grandmother, on the other hand, insisted on hand-feeding the child long after she could handle a spoon. This didn’t go as well; the child clamped her mouth shut, turning meals into a battle of wills. The mother made a simple yet profound decision: Keep the massage, let go of the spoon. Love stayed, force feeding did not.
What this illustrates is the possibility of honoring the person while editing the practice. You can acknowledge the wisdom of past generations without wholly subscribing to their methods. Amma, the oil stays. You are better at it than I am. The mouth is hers now. I will clean the floor. This is hands-on, and a war about tradition is not. Wars about tradition use the child as proof that one generation was right.
In some families, grandparents have the day. They hold the hours and, therefore, the data. They know what the child ate, what made them laugh, what frightened them. If they are the primary caregivers, then they have insights that are invaluable. But that doesn’t mean you arrive home with a reel of corrections. Instead, engage. Ask questions. Arrive with tomorrow’s one obvious experiment in their language. In doing so, you build a bridge rather than a wall.
Children don’t need a single philosophy as much as parenting content claims. They need to know who is in charge of safety, and that the adults are not using them as a battlefield. Pick the few rules that are truly yours: Sleep safety. No hitting. No force feeding. No humiliation. Let the oil be oil. The rest is negotiable.
I recall an incident in Jalandhar where a grandfather insisted that his grandson should not cry at school drop-off. “In my time, children did not make a scene,” he said. The boy was four, a tender age for separation. The father, wise enough to observe rather than argue, noticed that the tears stopped the minute the grandfather left the gate. The problem wasn’t the child, it was the audience. They tried a shorter goodbye, with the grandfather waiting in the car. The scene shrank. Dignity survived because nobody called his childhood a mistake. They changed the gate, not the man.
In joint families, the child’s day can often be put on trial in the evening. Marks, manners, the neighbor’s opinion—all are scrutinized. A hands-on parent closes the court. “We can talk after he sleeps,” you might say. Not as a slogan of disrespect, but as a protection of the sample. Children who hear themselves discussed become performers or defendants. Neither has much attention left for curiosity.
If you’re the grandparent reading this, the same stance belongs to you. You know this child in ways the parents, at work, do not. Say what you saw. Do not convert it into a verdict on the parents. And do not force the spoon to prove the old way still works. The old way worked, in part, because someone was watching the actual child. Keep that part. It is the part that still applies.
As an angel investor, I often see parallels between parenting and nurturing a startup. Both require patience, adaptability, and a willingness to balance tradition with innovation. Just as I would never invest in a startup solely on the founder’s past successes, I also wouldn’t dismiss a grandparent’s wisdom because it doesn’t come with a modern seal of approval.
In both arenas, the goal is not to win but to grow. Whether raising a child or building a business, success is about creating an environment where potential can be realized. Grandparents, with their wealth of experience, can be invaluable allies in this journey if we allow them to be. The key is not to put them on a pedestal nor to push them aside but to engage in a dialogue where both old and new can coexist.
So, let’s keep the love and keep the judgment, but let’s also keep the dialogue open. In doing so, we might just find that the wisdom of the past has a place in our modern lives, not as a relic but as a living, breathing guide.