To Amma

Alright, I am confused. I could either write about how anti Mother’s Day I am or I could write about Amma. Just because I feel like writing about her. What should I do? Guess I will write about Amma. I have never written about her and it is high time I did.

My mother is what you would call a high powered working woman. She strikes you as this perfect woman, balancing her career and home and in between tries to care about people she loves. But the truth is, she is much more than that. She is much more than an average mother who feeds you or clothes you or scolds you because she was forced to have kids through marriage. This is a woman with so much integrity, such an intact character that sometimes it is hard not to feel awed. Yes, I am in awe of her. If I tell her that, she will immediately make funny noises. If I tell about a friend’s mother who made that friend do something he or she didn’t like, she immediately points towards her leg and says… you should touch my feet.

So here is my tribute to my mother on this Mother’s Day.

Amma,

I love you so much. You are the only one who sees who I am and for that I am thankful. Many people go through their lives just because thy need to exist. You showed me that every moment, whatever happens to you, you can live, you can find your own purpose and come out of every hardship smiling and being a better person than before. You taught me that age is not about rigidity, but about how you keep your heart young. You taught me that as long as one carries goodness and love inside his/her heart, one cannot be dejected in life.

I am thankful to you for a lot of things. I am thankful to you for not making me wear gold when I didn’t want to. I am thankful to you for dragging me to every extra curricular activity when I was a child and always telling me how I performed, always urging me to do better. I am thankful for making me realize I cannot always win and what matters more is how gracefully you accept that defeat and utilize that defeat as a learning experience. I am thankful to you for not imposing any decision on me ever since I was a child and for giving me the choice to decide between right and wrong.

I love the way you try to tickle me when I hug you. I love the naughty look on your face when you tell a very irritated me that you have a seminar the same day and that you need my help with it. I love it when you pretend to be asleep when I come near you and try to startle me (you always forget that you smile slightly in anticipation and that I can see it).

I will never say that you are a great cook. Let us face it, you aren’t. I don’t mind it though, because your idlis and upma are the best. That’s the truth. I am really glad you never asked me to do something because of my gender. That whatever had to be done, it was shared between him and me. I love you for showing me what empowerment is all about. I am thankful to you for giving me not money, not gold, not diamonds (the pearls, definitely yes), but for giving me choices, freedom and lots and lots of unconditional love. I love you being the kind of mother who likes to be cuddled by her kids, the kind that doesn’t claim respect the ordinary way from her kids. I love you letting me boss you around, listening sulkily when I tell you what an idiot you are for doing something silly, for letting someone exploit you. But also for slapping me whenever I have behaved like an abominable toad (maybe five or six times all these years, I think).

I can never find another person like you. Not because you are my mother. I am proud that you are my mother. I am proud people are drawn to you because you are insightful, empathetic and most of all, beautiful, inside out. I know that if I continue writing, I could write a novel.

I could write entire chapters about your idiocies, your silliness, your embarrassing moments, but no time. If you see me writing this, you will scold me. But when you read this on the blog, you will start laughing. Thank you for giving me life, Amma. I would not want to be born to anyone more perfect. Mad perhaps, a little kinky, my beautiful butterfly, but still perfect for me. You are a big part of my heart.

So let me end with something you told me sometime back… Every mother is a prayer, a light which is lit for her children.

I love you.

Your eldest progeny.

And, keeping aside all my reservations against Mother’s Day, I wish every mother out there a very happy life ahead. May your children bring you happiness.