Your average Mommy day post..!!

I am assuming that mother’s day is around the corner for there are so many promotional campaigns and advertisements about how to impress your mother by sending her gifts. I have never been a fan of the Hallmark holidays, celebrating a relationship or an emotion or a gender; things we need to cherish everyday rather than downsizing it to one particular calendar day. Do you just need one day for love and one day for the women?

For all that she does, just one day for a mother? But what does she do? At least what does my mother do?

Like every other woman with unbearable children, my mother was strict, expected obedience, and good marks. My siblings and I complied to this with utmost devotion in our younger years, but as years went by following the norms of teenage, we rebelled now and then. My mother grew tired of our antics so she gave up on her firm hold and became a tad cooler. My sisters were married and out of our house, so I had the cool mom all to myself.

Almost all the children never call their mothers by name. My mother had scared my sisters so much about telling her name out loud, that they dared not to mention it even when they were asked. But then, I called her “J”. That’s how we roll.

Rather than instructing me to do things, she listened to what I had to say. She believed in my judgment and took suggestions from me. This may not be a big deal to the present generation “Hip-Mommas”, but my J is from a different century. She hailed from a small town, born in a big family with humble means, never had much experience with the world and became a mother when my friend’s mothers were either in school or in the crib. She was taught to comply, never to question. Your typical 1970’s Indian women.

In the flavours of her cooking, the vibrant shades of her neatly tied saris, her fragrance in the house, the unchanging way of how she rings the pooja bell, her bargaining skills, the way she stomachs our sickness, her curly hair, the vermilion stain on the center of her parted hair, her cracked heels and calloused hands, the rare smiles, the vapours of her medicinal oils, my mother was everywhere without being there.

She lived with a sense of selflessness, being the eldest sister to a big bunch of siblings. Even after all these years, with the size of our family down to three, my mother remains the same. The simple things she does, like taking the burnt dosa or chapati and offering the good ones to me and dad, not taking second helpings of that tasty dish she had made, buying something for her but give it up in a heartbeat, because my eyes had lit up seeing it, letting me sleep whilst holding on to her sari - even now, enjoying cricket with us and so many more things stand as a testament of the love she has for us. Small obscure things that she doesn’t mind, she doesn’t draw attention to, but they make me feel immensely gifted to be with her for they never go unnoticed.

Of course it is not roses and love all the days. There are days that I feel like throwing things at her. No matter what goes wrong between us or how long I decide not to talk to her, my mother never gave up on me. Every time I fall, she holds out a hand for me to get up. My refusal to rise doesn't deter her tenacity to get me up and going. She believes in every promise that I eventually fail to keep up. She holds on to me fiercely even when I walk away from everything. She cherishes my dreams, however obscure they may be. With all her love, that woman shames me for my mere existence.

I have always wondered if people can truly find their one great love.

I know have.

My J is my one true love, my knight in shining armor who really wants me to be saved from me. Nobody could ever love me unconditionally as much as she does. She is my hero, the one I look up to, the one I fail, the one I hurt, the one I care for, the one I wish to be someday, the one who means the world to me. She is the one. Everything and everybody come after her.

Most people feel this special about their mothers as well. I write this because this is the only honest emotion that I harbor. Her love is basis of my life. Everything good and bad that has stemmed out from there is my doing, but all this is impossible without my J.

My sweet J.