If there is someone in this world who I have loved, adored, venerated, admired, lied to, been scared of, loathed, yet treasured immensely; it would be my mother.
I do not remember when was it that I actually accepted her as my own? I am sure none of us know the answer to this. It is probably sometime, in those 9 months when they carry us in their womb or when they feed us or when they teach us how to walk, or when they clean our mess or when they make us independent or when they just sit by our side even when we do not need them; that we actually make “her” ours.
I wondered as a kid when I saw my friends’ mothers. Why is it that my mom is not tall, why does she not wear saris all the time like other moms, why is it that she cannot come to pick me up after school, why is it that she is not at home like his mom? It used to make me sad that I never got the “bare minimum” expected things from my mother which every other kid got. Well the “bare minimum “is according to one’s requirements, conveniently listed so as to pity one self. As a kid none of us realize the importance of what we have. As it is rightly said, the grass is always greener on the other side. But why is it that I never happened to notice that she was always there when I needed her, that when she was home I was her world. She yelled at me when I erred but she drew me to her chest every time I shed a tear, she made me study when I wanted to go and play but at the same time she opened to me so many avenues where I could delve into the beautiful world of music, arts and sports, she did not let me spend time watching television but she cultivated the brilliant habit of reading in me. She did not spoon feed me with all the answers I needed to the problems I faced but she made me think for myself, let me make my share of mistakes, corrected me when I took the wrong paths and yet never lost faith in me. Her eyes, her smile, her voice was always there to soothe my ailing heart all through my tribulations. She never advocated my transgressions but at the same time gave me the strength to admit my wrongdoings and act towards rectifying them.
Then why is it that we as children are always finding faults with our mothers. What’s wrong if your mother is not educated as you, what‘s wrong if your mom doesn’t know much about your field? We all did not take birth with this level of knowledge or intelligence…there was a time when she was much smarter than you were and you did look up to be like her. What’s wrong if she tells some things to your friends that you don’t want them to know? I am sure we have embarrassed her in much worse ways by throwing up on her brand new dress or thrown tantrums at a party that we did not wish to stay at. What’s wrong if she yells at you for not paying enough attention towards her or not accompanying her for a movie once in a blue moon? We all demanded our share of attention when we did not have anyone to play with and expected her to leave all her work and play a pal to us. What’s wrong if she messes up a dish for dinner when you were expecting five star standard cuisines? The gourmets that we all claim to be, little do we realize how easily we forget the efforts that go into making something for your loved one especially after managing a myriad of things.
The kind of mother you have is the kind of mother you need. She comes as a gift to you from the one who is sitting somewhere above all of us... stitched to fit your need size, to help you self-actualize, to enthuse you to achieve something in this given life. She cannot be perfect because you cannot be perfect. But together, along with all the awkward situations, you will both do some form of justice to your roles. So, love her for what she is…
Love you Aai.
