The earliest memory of my mother is one of her taking me to Empire Bakery on Sachapir Street to choose my birthday cake. She carried me down the street while I gazed in wonder at shops on the way...I peered through the grimy glass showcase at Empire - at cakes that had been there a week atleast ( not that I knew) and agonized over whether I should pick the ship cake or the guitar one.
She then took me to the cycle shop opposite and allowed me touch some cycles - and oh boy! That was awesome!! We walked back via Husseini bakery, met my father at the local laundry - Bangalore - and continued home. They bought me bullseye sweets from Unique and I felt like a princess!
Then I have this vivid memory of her whacking me in a shoe shop on MG Road because I wanted a pair of red shoes and well she just could not afford them, especially since the object of the outing was to buy school shoes. I remember her cooking up a storm for parties at our home which was not more than 350 sq feet and was inhabited already by 2 adults and 3 kids. I remember her giving me the ruler on my backside because I wrote badly for an essay class...and then I remember her helping me write letters to Santa and in hindsight not so subtly telling me what Santa could and could not afford. One memory is that of her pulling me out of bed and making me do my sister's hair ( late addition making phew! I mean 4 ) And one is of her throwing the ball at me when I disturbed her afternoon sleep. And oh boy ( pun intended ) I remember her giving me 'The Talk'
These memories come flooding back to me like bits of paper in a gentle breeze. Memories of her teaching me, soothing me, singing to me, staying awake with me, taking me to church, crying with me, for me...
See the thing about memories is that they never come to you in sequence. And they come to you unbidden. And they come to you ripe with emotion and bursting with detail. And when the subject of these memories is one's mother - the memories are sweet and bitter and soaked in nostalgia.
Fast forward to me being a mother myself and all the memories are of her and my children. Of her being the super Nana. Nursery rhymes and story books, sleep overs and huge sugar filled breakfasts, secrets under the covers and promises at dawn...beautiful memories of her loving my children without reserve like only a grandmother could.
People say that you always remember the big events in your life - the red letter days. But thats not true.
When I think of you mum, I remember every day...your love for us....for dad.....your love for cooking and for keeping a good home....your sacrifice...your dedication...your temper...your smile...your tears...your support....your words. All of which made my life wonderful and wholesome and grounded and real.
I am the woman I am because of the woman you are. Thank you for all the years you gave me and for the years you now give my children.
I am honoured to be your daughter.
Happy Mother's Day!
She then took me to the cycle shop opposite and allowed me touch some cycles - and oh boy! That was awesome!! We walked back via Husseini bakery, met my father at the local laundry - Bangalore - and continued home. They bought me bullseye sweets from Unique and I felt like a princess!
Then I have this vivid memory of her whacking me in a shoe shop on MG Road because I wanted a pair of red shoes and well she just could not afford them, especially since the object of the outing was to buy school shoes. I remember her cooking up a storm for parties at our home which was not more than 350 sq feet and was inhabited already by 2 adults and 3 kids. I remember her giving me the ruler on my backside because I wrote badly for an essay class...and then I remember her helping me write letters to Santa and in hindsight not so subtly telling me what Santa could and could not afford. One memory is that of her pulling me out of bed and making me do my sister's hair ( late addition making phew! I mean 4 ) And one is of her throwing the ball at me when I disturbed her afternoon sleep. And oh boy ( pun intended ) I remember her giving me 'The Talk'
These memories come flooding back to me like bits of paper in a gentle breeze. Memories of her teaching me, soothing me, singing to me, staying awake with me, taking me to church, crying with me, for me...
See the thing about memories is that they never come to you in sequence. And they come to you unbidden. And they come to you ripe with emotion and bursting with detail. And when the subject of these memories is one's mother - the memories are sweet and bitter and soaked in nostalgia.
Fast forward to me being a mother myself and all the memories are of her and my children. Of her being the super Nana. Nursery rhymes and story books, sleep overs and huge sugar filled breakfasts, secrets under the covers and promises at dawn...beautiful memories of her loving my children without reserve like only a grandmother could.
People say that you always remember the big events in your life - the red letter days. But thats not true.
When I think of you mum, I remember every day...your love for us....for dad.....your love for cooking and for keeping a good home....your sacrifice...your dedication...your temper...your smile...your tears...your support....your words. All of which made my life wonderful and wholesome and grounded and real.
I am the woman I am because of the woman you are. Thank you for all the years you gave me and for the years you now give my children.
I am honoured to be your daughter.
Happy Mother's Day!
