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They say you don’t know the value of something until it becomes a memory. For a little boy, that truth was carved deep into his heart after losing a grandmother.

Days were once filled with the comfort of her lap, the smell of sandalwood from her saree, and lullabies that could hush the busiest street. The child adored her, not only for her affection but because she was a safe harbor in a restless world.

Every evening, there was a little ritual, sitting beside her on the old charpoy, tracing the deep lines on her hands, tugging gently at the loose skin on her arms, and asking,

“Dadi, what’s inside all this soft, wrinkly skin?”

With a twinkle in her eye, she would always reply,

“A lot of wealth… more than you can count.”

Back then, it was taken literally, imagining hidden treasures: gold coins, sparkling gems, and maybe even magic. She would laugh, and the room would light up.

But life turns its pages too fast.

One winter morning, she was gone, slipping quietly into that long, unreturning sleep. The child wept endlessly, pleading to the skies, “Bring her back… I don’t want her wealth, I just want her.”

The heavens stayed silent.

Years passed. The world moved on. But those words—“a lot of wealth”—remained.

One quiet evening, while staring at an old photograph of her smiling face, the truth finally unfolded. Her “wealth” wasn’t gold or jewels. It was health, the years she had lived, the love she had given, the time she had shared. Every wrinkle was a chapter in the book of her life—a map of struggles overcome, laughter shared, and kindness offered.

The greatest fortune she carried wasn’t hidden, it was visible all along.

Health. Time. Love.

These are treasures more precious than any vault can hold. Money may buy medicine, but not the warmth of a grandmother’s touch. It can buy a clock, but never turn its hands back.

Wrinkles aren’t a sign of age.

They are proof of a life well-lived.

Cherish your elders now. Listen to their stories. Hold their hands a little longer. Because the most valuable wealth in this world disappears silently—and once it’s gone, no prayer can bring it back.

I miss my mama (my dadi)