Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) has always meant a lot to me. I learned at a young age that we have to keep pushing on. What I guess I didn’t realize is how much of an influence my grandmother had on me. I respect her so much and love her with all of my heart, so this one is dedicated to her and the amazing things she has accomplished.

*As always, there are flaws to my version. My piano playing was wrong sometimes, so my vocal pitch didn’t always match up. And sorry for the annoying buzz in the background. Those are the strings of the piano vibrating, meaning the piano needs to be fixed and tuned (my fault :/). *

For Kelly Clarkson’s original: Kelly Clarkson – Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You)

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My grandmother relaxes in her black chair in the corner of her living room. I sit on the floor in front of her, massaging her feet with lotion, keeping them look as young as they do. Her feet are small, tender, strong. They’ve carried the load of years of hard work. They’ve held up her body even when Parkinson’s tried to bring it down. They were present when each child left the house and when each grandchild entered. They danced at parties; they sat crossed in prayer. And now her seventy-year-old feet are in my seventeen-year-old hands.

Her name is Kanta, but as is traditional to Indian culture, I call her Ba. When I think of her, I think of her long, braided hair with black and grey wisps intertwined. I think of how smart she is, able to pick up new ideas and processes quickly. I think of how hardworking she is, constantly on her feet cooking, cleaning, coming up with new ideas.

I think of all the times I’ve massaged her feet and wonder how she managed to keep them looking so young. They’re soft, smooth; they look younger than my feet. They hurt when she stands on them too long, but she pushes through. She’s pushed through her whole life. She grew up in a poor family; she was forced to quit school in seventh grade; she worked in the house her whole life. She took care of her aunt at age thirteen, she took care of her husband at age sixteen, she took care of her children in her twenties, and then she took care of her grandchildren in her later years. She’s pushed through the boundaries put up by people who believe women aren’t important. She pushed through the grueling move from India to America. She’s pushed through deaths and illnesses. She pushes to keep standing, even when she’s told to sit down.

When she pushes through and stands with everyone else, her feet shift back and forth so as to temporarily relieve the pain. She often has to rely on her walker to keep her up. An independent woman like my Ba is not used to having to rely on something or someone. But even if she’s reliant on something, she’s lived her life on her own two feet and kept them looking young.

Those feet hold up an incredible woman who I am blessed to know. She didn’t graduate high school, but she’s brighter than I am. She’s much older, but she’s stronger than I am. She’s been through so much, but she complains less than I do. When she laughs, you feel warm inside and excited to be with her. When she cries, you wish you could make the pain go away and you wish that life wasn’t so cruel to her.

I remember how she danced at my cousin’s wedding three years ago because she was so happy. The room was dark; the colored lights were bright; the pain was gone. I hope she’ll be strong enough to dance at my wedding. I hope she’ll be strong enough to keep herself up for the next few years. I hope her feet will remain young.