My grandmother Paripooranam Rajasundaram, aka Pari, was the best example possible of quiet, unassuming strength. Many memories have already been shared since her death, celebrating the extraordinary life she lived. There is little to add to those, except confirm that all the incredible stories are true. She was married in her teens and widowed by terrorism at 50. She was aristocratic yet compassionate, orthodox yet open minded, classy without being snobby, meek but never weak. She possessed incredible inner strength, capable of suffering any punishment in silence, even justifying it as her own fate. Like my other grandmother, she had great intellectual curiosity about the world; she could hold her own in most conversations about culture, history, theology and philosophy. You could converse with her just as easily about the Kurukshetra war as about Japanese war crimes in Malaysia (which she witnessed first hand as a child). She knew what it was like to host Heads of State at the dinner table and what it was like to be confronted by armed terrorists pointing guns at her. While most would have cracked under such tragedies, she remained unbreakable until the end, holding on to usher in not just the next generation and the one after that, but her great-grandchildren as well. True strength is not about physical power, it is the ability to suffer for the sake of others. In a different world with different cultural rules, there would have been no limit to what my grandmother could have achieved or become. But I am glad that even in our world, with our rules, she still managed to live a life that will be remembered for generations as a lesson on the true meaning of strength.