A tribute to my mother

One of my earliest memories of my mother is of her taking my brother and me to a toy store. My brother is demanding yet another train set, while she is trying to gently dissuade him by reminding him of the innumerable toy trains lying around at home. My brother is adamant and she finally gives in.

Years later, my mother confided that those were some of the most difficult years of her life. My father had relocated from Bombay to Bangalore, to set up a business of his own. My father, being an academic type, and rather timid by nature, didn’t have much of a head for business. Consequently, my parents were facing a financial crisis. My parents, especially my mother, never let us feel the pinch. She sacrificed personal necessities to cater to our demands, however trivial. (Today, as a mother myself, I feel it is important to teach children the value of money and to respect it…however, that’s beside the point here.) Rather, she took it upon herself to use her creativity to make ends meet.

She started with attending a tailoring course when my brother and I (then about 4 and 5 respectively) went to school. She began stitching all my clothes herself. She had an eye for aesthetics, and soon all the teenage girls in the neighborhood were flocking to her to teach them tailoring. Afternoons at home were filled with the laughing and chatter of the girls and my mother, as she taught them how to sew and stitch.

Soon, she graduated to bigger things. She chanced upon wire puppets on one of our long weekend walks. She examined them for a few minutes and figured out how they were made. In a few days, she’d made a dancing couple – the popular, blue skinned God Krishna and his beautiful Radha. She took them to a handicraft store catering to tourists and the owner immediately placed an order for a hundred pieces. Soon, the order increased to a 1000, and Mum was forced to hire help. Unfortunately for her, my father decided the time had come to cut his losses, and he packed up to return to Bombay. My mother shut her flourishing business without complaint, but I know she missed it all her life.

When we returned to Bombay, my brother and I were in out teens. My father was close to 50, and my mother around 40. At his age, there weren’t many job opportunities. Mum came to the rescue again. She went back to college to train as a teacher and went on to complete her Masters in Literature. She became a successful teacher, and taught students till she passed away four years ago.

I got married around four years ago. I was Daddy’s girl all through my childhood. When I started dating, it was against my mother’s wishes, and we had a turbulent relationship for two years. I finally married my boyfriend. Soon after the wedding, she was diagnosed with liver damage caused by Hepatitis C and she passed away a couple of years after I was married. A few months after her death, I gave birth to a baby girl.

As I spun daydreams of being my daughter’s best friend, I began to realize what I had lost. Did my mother nurture dreams of being my best friend? I will never know. Every time I walk down memory lane, I realize what an amazing woman she was. Try as I might, I can never hope to equal what she was. I am left with regrets – loads of them. I

I remember what a fabulous cook she was – and regret that I never took the opportunity to learn from her. Every time I lose my patience with my daughter – I remember how she single-handedly raised two children, without ever losing her patience. Every hurdle I face as a parent has me longing to run to her for sage advise. And every time I listen to a friend complain about how interfering her mother is, I feel envious.

There’s nothing I can do except live with the regrets. My only consolation is the hope that she’s watching over me, wherever she is. Ingenious as she was, perhaps she’s found a way to guide me…I can only hope.