For two years after my father-in-law moved in, he barely spoke. He was healthy, but he had nothing to do. Now he leaves the house at half past eight with his newspaper under his arm, and when he comes home he tells us which child said what.
“My mother used to wait all day for someone to talk to. Now she comes home with stories about a four-year-old who calls her Nani.”
“We were looking for a creche. We found a place where our son is learning patience from people who have plenty of it.”
“At 74 I thought my working days were over. Here I teach the children Punjabi rhymes every afternoon. They have learned four.”
“Dropping both of them at the same gate in the morning saved me an hour a day and about half my worrying.”
“I trained as a caregiver after eleven years at home. This is the first job where I am asked what I think about the children's routine.”
“My daughter started saving half her biscuit for ‘Dadu at school’. She is four. Nobody taught her that.”
Intergenerational programmes have been studied for decades in countries where they are common. The findings are consistent, and they match what we see.
The garden club planted methi in the raised beds. Three toddlers watered the same pot eleven times.
Story hour ran forty minutes over because nobody wanted the Akbar-Birbal story to end.
Physiotherapy morning for the seniors, followed by a very slow, very cheerful game of passing the ball.
Two birthdays on the same day — one turning four, one turning eighty-one. Same cake.
Folk song practice for next month's Lohri celebration. The children now know the chorus better than the adults.
If your family is part of Peedhiya, we would love to hear how it is going, and share it, with your permission.
