The world transforms into a crimson sea every February as Valentine's Day arrives. While restaurants overflow with candlelit couples exchanging roses, I find myself contemplating why affection needs a calendar date for celebration. My memories trace back to simpler times when love needed no commercial validation.

Growing up in small-town India, Valentine's Day was an alien concept. Romance blossomed spontaneously - through stolen glances across crowded classrooms or hastily scribbled notes tucked between pages of Clark's tables. Our floral gestures weren't imported roses but wild daisies plucked from roadside bushes on the way to college. If a girl pinned one behind her ear, that silent declaration spoke volumes more than any store-bought bouquet.

Our cinematic references featured heroes singing "Oh my daisy" amidst overgrown shrubs rather than rose gardens. The most handsome boy in our college, Shine, learned this lesson painfully when his delayed confession cost him the campus beauty Rathi's heart - she'd accepted his best friend's proposal that very morning. His tragicomic story became legendary alumni lore: "Procrastination ruins life."

As global exposure reshaped our perspectives, we embraced new traditions without abandoning old ones. Roses gained appreciation alongside their humble cousins, and romance became as natural as breathing rather than an annual spectacle. My first Valentine's column celebrated all meaningful relationships with its bold title 'Here's to all other women in my life'.

Now in life's autumn years, Valentine's Day transcends romantic notions entirely. It becomes inclusive - embracing Gazans and Israelis sharing meals amidst conflict; Ukrainian and Russian civilians helping each other; multigenerational families cherishing their bonds beyond bloodlines.

The purest valentine now comes packaged in toddler form - my grandson Zayne transforms ordinary weekends into celebrations of unconditional love. His face lights up at my arrival like sunrise over dewdrops on petals; tiny hands patting my bald head create symphonies more beautiful than any love song; his nibbles on my nose leave marks I proudly display like medals of affection.

A recent phone call from Vinay Kamath reminded me how quickly childhood evaporates like morning mist on roses.My daughter confesses she wants to freeze time even as Instagram chronicles Zayne's metamorphosis from swaddled infant to independent explorer.Soon enough he'll have valentines of his own,and grandpa might become just another forgotten notification in his busy digital life.But for now,I bask in these precious moments where love needs no special day or expensive flowers-just open arms and willing hearts.

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