<p>The sky was blue, the air was crisp and the sun was shining gloriously . It was two days prior to the Indian festival of lights ,
Diwali . According to customs followed , families were supposed to clean their homes. My mother gave me the job of cleaning
up the dust covered bookshelves , little did I know that this would impact my life in a way that nothing could . I handpicked each
book and cleaned it with a cloth , reading it a bit just to keep things interesting . After an hour or so , I found my fathers decade
old diary . The diary was torn from the edges and on top of it in bold letters it said "2003" . I felt intimidated and nervous as I
held it , but soon I gave in and opened it ... 2003 , The year things changed . I woke up to the ring of the telephone at six in the
morning . I ran to receive it before my sister but my father beat me to it . I stood there and waited for him to finish talking . As he
kept the receiver and turned to my mother , soon we were on our journey via train to one of the oldest cities in India , Patna . I
was visiting my grandparents after a long time . We enjoyed the scenic beauty of the farms we could view through the rusted
window pane and reached Patna . We were standing in front of my grandparents home . In front of me was a modest brick-built
building which was curtained-off from the rest of the city with a wall of trees . Soon I was beating my sister in the race to reach
the top floor of the building, to the flat my grandparents resided in . As we reached the top floor , we were shell-shocked and
stunned by my grandmother's body that lay in the drawing room in front of us . First time I saw so many relatives under one roof
. Their mournful faces had eyes filled with tears and sorrow . Me and my sister could not understand the emotional upheaval,
but we felt it . My relatives soon went through a few rituals as we stayed at home, unaware. This vacation was over and on our
journey back to Bangalore, my father told me that my grandfather will stay with us and that I'll be sharing my room with him .
Words could not express the extent to which I was happy at that moment . When we reached home and settled in , my mother
made the decision to start working . I was too naive to understand the significance of my mother's decision. As i turned through
the brown delicate pages of the diary , My mind was filling up with dates that I should search for . Soon , I turned to the page
which gave an anecdote of my grandmother's death. It wrote in descriptive words about how my parents had to step up in those
distressful moments . As I read the entire page , it dawned upon me that as I grow , I too must share the responsibilities along
with my family . Everything I read that day , every emotion I felt changed me as a person , but most importantly , as a son . The
notes in my father's diary has motivated me to be inquisitive, learn through experiences and try to achieve more each day.
Further, to give my best in everything I do .</p>
<p>Because it is late and I am tired I will be brutally honest. Too much telling and not enough showing. Reads like a 8th grader narrative. I am truly sorry for your grandmother’s death but unfortunately when used in a college app, it is a cliche and should be avoided, especially because you’ve learnt nothing extraordinary from it. Hope that helped you.</p>