It’s 10 in the morning, and she is in one of her signature white-and-lavender saris, sitting comfortably in her chair on the balcony, reading. Exactly at 11 am, she will have her second cup of Darjeeling tea. Routine, she tells, is the secret of her long life.

In January, Preeti Gupta — our grandmother — turned 100. She has watched history unfurl, embraced technology that once seemed like fiction, and moved from village to towns to mega cities.

When you are a centenarian, you see developments not from the pages of a book, or on the screen in front, but first-hand. Our grandma’s stories are like history coming alive. She was barely 11 when MK Gandhi started his salt satyagraha. She was 20 when World War II broke out. She heard about the plane that crashed with Subhas Chandra Bose onboard. India was partitioned and won Independence when she was in her late 20s. She was almost 30 when Gandhi was gunned down.

Our grandmother has seen it all.

Born in January 1919 in rural Assam to a Bengali civil surgeon and his wife, she recalls seeing her first storm in 1926, after her father was posted to Dibrugarh. As the banks of the wild Brahmaputra River burst, their housekeeper carried the groggy-eyed child on her back to safety, as their village got swept away.

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“I saw big fat pythons washed down from the hills, and cows tied together in a chain — one for all and all for one, to die or to survive,” she relates to her grandchildren.

Grandma, who stood first in Kolkata and Assam in the girls’ matriculation, won an annual scholarship of ₹20 at the Victoria College in Kolkata. Her eyes shine as she remembers her journey to Kolkata on the Goalondo Steamer and “the most heavenly chicken curry” that was served on board. Passengers scrambled up to the steamer from smaller boats with pots of hot rosogollas. And boys were seen only from the safety of her female-only cabin.

In college, Preeti and her friends played volleyball and badminton and clandestinely gathered at midnight to summon the spirits — through a popular form of eerie entertainment, the planchette. As her grandchildren, we realise that married women of her time hardly ever spoke about the magical and dangerous time between being a girl and a woman — a freedom now taken for granted.

Her marriage was arranged and she moved to a college in Guwahati where her father was then posted. She was to marry a headmaster’s son she’d never met. But her father couldn’t ignore her irrepressible determination to finish college. It was decided that she would marry, but go to her in-laws’ only after she had finished university. She graduated in economics with distinction, eventually from Sylhet, this time her sari pallu covering her head, like any newly married woman.

Her eldest was born in Assam in 1941, amidst the growing rumble of the Quit India movement, at her father’s home. At the time, her husband — Babuji as we called him — was relocating the family to Kolkata following his father’s death. Japanese warplanes terrorised the then Capital with bombs. In a rare act of defiance, Preeti’s father refused to let her go, whisking her and her son away to the relative safety of Lahore. After her outraged in-laws left Kolkata for Bombay, Preeti finally joined them there.

She remembers the fear that gripped the people during World War II and the tumultuous years before Independence. Mounted Imperial soldiers stormed the streets. Black sheets were pasted on the windows, so that not a trace of light could be seen from the outside. “The British shot whoever they thought were terrorists. They marched down the streets banging on doors calling people out,” she tells us. Her terrified mother-in-law would lock the women in the kitchen where they would wait, trembling until the soldiers had passed.

A swell of excitement electrified the country as the British packed their bags. She remembers when she saw Gandhi, speaking to a huge crowd at Shivaji Park. When Jawaharlal Nehru delivered his midnight speech of August 15, 1947, she, her husband and his brother took a tram in Dadar to see the fireworks lighting up Bombay.

She also remembers the communal riots that tore through India during a visit to Kolkata. From her verandah, she saw groups of armed men drive around in trucks. In horror, she witnessed a Muslim labourer being lynched by a mob.

The dust settled across the nation, but never for long around Preeti’s feet. She moved to Bombay, and then to Pune and Nagpur with her family. She holds our hands and tells us how she learnt to drive a car in Nagpur, along with her teenage son. In the ’50s, the family got their first radio, sparking huge excitement in the neighbourhood.

Having moved all around India, she finally settled in Kolkata. We ask her to reveal the secrets of her grace and innate capability to adapt. “Raise three sons — they will keep you fit,” she retorts.

What helps is her routine: Moderate eating — a little of whatever you like, but no red meat; sleep well; take care of yourself — a little face cream is never a bad idea. She reads and meditates through worship. All this, she believes, has kept her mind sharp through her 100 years.

We tell her about an upcoming trip we want to make to the Sundarbans. She says, with a smile, “I never did go to the Sundarbans. Will you take a video for me so I can go with you too?”

Meghna Gupta and Aditi Gupta are based in London