“My grandmother was an odd woman. When I was a child I used to live with her in a small town in India. My mother and father were busy working in the city and for most of the year it was just me and my grandmother living together in an old house at the edge of town.
We lived well with each other. Every morning, my tiny hand would be clasped in her calloused old hand as we walked together to the school. In her other hand, she would be holding a cloth potli filled with rotis to feed the street dogs. Halfway through our daily journey, the dogs would come running over to my grandmother as she opened her potli and fed them the rotis. She used to address each one by its name, not like one would call a pet, but rather as one would address a close friend.
We must have painted a bizarre picture to the people around us, if the looks thrown our way from the passerby were any indication. I was always impatient with this little ritual of my grandmother and would often try to pull her away from the dogs. But she never relented and would always stop to feed and talk to the dogs even if it meant me being late to school. Eventually, I came to accept this as just one of my grandmother’s eccentricities.
I lived with my grandmother until the age of twelve which was when I was called to the city to live with my parents. Every summer I would go to visit her and it seemed that she was getting worse after each visit. I was sixteen years old, when she was first diagnosed with osteoarthritis. She was getting worse and worse as each year passed by. After I finished my school and just before starting college, my grandmother called me home. She wanted me to spend a few months with her before I embarked onto a new phase of my life.
In those few months I spent with her, I realized how much we had grown apart over the years. While earlier we would spend hours with each other talking, playing, and praying with each other. Now we seemed to have nothing in common. We were like two strangers sharing a house. It was an unfortunate situation but I had no idea how to remedy it.
One evening when I was in my room, I heard the sound of dogs barking. I walked up to the noise, only to see my grandmother sitting on a chair on the porch with pieces of rotis spread all around her. She was talking to those dogs just as she used to when I was a child. She was also massaging her knees with oil at the same time.
I smiled as I watched this little domestic scene play out. I walked up to her and took a seat near her feet. I took the bottle of Sandhi Sudha Ayurvedic Oil, poured some on my hands, and took over from her and started massaging her joints. She looked surprised at first and then started to smile. We started talking to each other and I realized how much I missed being with my grandmother. We spent hours talking and reconnecting with each other. She reintroduced me to the dogs whose names I had forgotten.
Since then, I spent every evening massaging my grandmother’s joints with Sandhisudha as the dogs crowded around us and we talked to them like old friends. Anyone who saw us gave us weird looks. Of course, they did. My grandmother is odd. But, then again, so am I.”
This is a story of one of the many satisfied Sandhi Sudha customers. Do you have a similar story? How has Sandhi Sudha impacted your life?
If you’re looking for Ways to Keep Arthritis Pain Away in Monsoons, then it’s time to try Ayurvedic Joint Pain Relief Oil for Joint Pain Treatment.
The World-Class Ayurvedic Joint Pain Relieving Massage Oil, Sandhi Sudha is packed with meticulously selected ingredients that have shown natural pain killing properties which when combined with each other Relieve Joint Pains and improve flexibility. The extremely potent and effective herbs contained in this Ayurvedic Joint and Muscular Pain Relieving Oil reduces inflammation and stiffness in the joints for those suffering from osteoarthritis or any other kind of joint pain. This is entirely Natural Joint Pain Relief Oil that also soothes swollen joints.
For further information, visit https://www.sandhisudhaplus.com/
0 comments:
Post a Comment