India, Aug. 18 -- That June morning, during the cremation of Shaminder Kaur, one of my loving aunts from Bhakna, a border village of Amritsar, the air was scented not only with sadness but also with praises of her. Most mourners remembered her for her positivity, a quality she exuded despite the odds as she had been facing an array of health issues. A sudden heart failure took her life. She was in her mid-sixties and had retired as a government school teacher. She had been bedridden for nearly a decade after she along with her husband met with a car accident. While uncle recovered, she couldn't, mainly because she suffered several fractures. Being bedridden brought more health problems from poor heart health to diabetes. Over the last few years, she had visited several hospitals for surgeries and other health complications but surprisingly whenever someone met her, her joyful attitude was in place. She would narrate her hospital stays with a smiling face, as if she was not back from a hospital but from a refreshing break at a resort in the mountains. However complicated the surgery, the cheer on her face never faded. She would go on appreciating the nurses, the meals she savoured and even the spacious room. Many were surprised to see she survived a hospital visit during the coronavirus period. I remember how she shared her Covid treatment. "I stayed there a little over a week. Every day, people were dying around me, but I kept telling myself I'll be fine. I stayed strong and eventually returned home and am talking to you," she said in her usual calm voice. Her positive outlook was a magnet for many as whenever I visited her there was always someone who had come to see her, from neighbours and relatives to even former colleagues. During my long cycling trips in the region, her home was my favourite stop. Meeting her melted away my tiredness and energised me as she never complained about her aches and pains nor rolled out any list of complaints. Instead, she counted her blessings, from her loving husband and caring daughters to her full-time help, Raji, who was no less than a daughter for her. If she recalled something, it would be simple gestures that had bathed her in happiness. I may have brought her dal from the langar of a gurdwara only once but she kept sharing this gesture with many. She liked talking about her village and the neighbourhood. "You should love the place you live in," was one of her mantras. Just a year ago, the TV screen facing her bed was fitted with live cameras which showed different parts of her home and the street in front. I loved it when she enjoyed introducing me to the many characters of her village as they passed - absolutely so entertaining. But the day she passed away, the camera displays were packed with mourners. One of them showed the veranda where her body was kept, just outside her room, where many of us often enjoyed her company. The uncertainty and fragility of life got me emotional. I had plans to visit her over the weekend, but decided to postpone it, little knowing that next Sunday she won't be there anymore. She may have departed forever but her inspiring attitude lives on in the hearts of many. She lived by the belief: Whatever the odds, stay high-spirited. It's one of the essential ingredients for a happy life. But Bhakna visits will never be the way they used to be....