Mothers and Daughters and Legacy

Today morning, as we were returning after seeing our daughter off at the airport , to a 3 week residential summer camp, we saw her plane soaring up into the sky. ‘There she flies, your birdie’, my husband remarked. And then in a softer tone, he added ‘she has big wings, your birdie. Soon she will fly away’. And he gave voice to what I have privately known about Trayi : she has big wings. She needs them too, to give flight to her soaring ambition and to her sky high dreams. 
I should have probably feel a twinge of sadness when Ajit made that observation, but all I felt was pride. And gratitude.
Pride because I have seen Trayi in the days leading up to today. She has started practicing already, taking charge of her life. She took charge of her packing : making a detailed list of things she needed to carry, and then meticulously packed her things. She took care of everything : her music play list, her drum practice pads, her kindle, her formal clothes for the convocation , her passport sized photos - every little thing. She seemed to be saying : Don’t worry about me mommy, I am ready to fly.
And I felt gratitude. Gratitude because I have been able to pass on to my daughter, the large wings that my mother made for me. She didn’t inherit wings, my mom. When she grew up, sheltered and cocooned, wings were not something the girls got. They were protected by chaperones from the world outside and from their own dreams by the elders inside.
She didn’t remember her childhood fondly, Amma. She spoke of quashed desires and unfulfilled dreams. And maybe that is why, almost with a vengeance, she imbued in me all her dreams and so many of her desires. And then just for fun, she gave me some more. And alongwith those dreams, she also knitted for me big large wings to fly , so I reach for them. She freed me in ways that was not only ahead of her generation, but also alien in her mileau.
Had my mom played it safe, by the rules she had been taught to follow : maybe today, my daughter wouldn’t have flown with her big large wings.
Happy Mother’s Day Amma.
Happy Anniversay Venkataraman Mani and Amma !

Mother's day 2018

I am making ‘Pulingeri’. Pulingeri- a traditional kuzhambu (loosely translated as ‘dal’) is a favorite in the household. I have made it at least 50 times over the years. So many times, I have lost count. But I am still just that tad unsure. I call Amma. The Pulingeri I make has been taught to me by Amma. ‘It is from Chamiathu Paar only’,she has mentioned to me sometime in the past. ‘Chaimathu Paar’ –the cooking bible for all things Tam Brahm, was part of my dowry. I have it still – pages soiled with sambhar and all the other things I have made off its pages and then fed to it for its approval. But Pulingeri is different. I have never consulted Chamaithu Paar for it. A call to Amma is always part of the cooking process. As soon as Appa picks up the phone and I ask for Amma, he calls out ‘Shweta is cooking something’. He knows from the impatience in my voice. Just one of those things. 
I ask Amma the same recipe for the umpteenth time. ‘Amma did Pulingeri have tuar dal or chana dal’, I clarify as she tells me the details. She never gets irritated even when I ask the same thing so often. And yes, the dal names are in Hindi. I don’t know what chana dal would be called in Tamil. Easy to learn, but hey, its just one of those things. 

My daughter critically observes all this at my end of the line. ‘Mama, why don’t you just write the recipe down?’. How do I explain? It isn’t about the recipe any more. Talking to Amma before I make Pulingeri just seems part of the cooking process. Her voice, a reassurance, an omen almost, that the Pulingeri will turn out well. 
How do I explain to my daughter that even though I am her mother, I am still a child? And for just those handful of things, I want my Amma still. It just is one of those things…

Happy Mother's Day, Ma.

Mother's day 2016

 remember that day clearly : I was in 8th grade in Baroda and my mom and I were alone at home. My dad had already moved to Nasik by then. My brother had left for college. My grandfather - my dad's dad, bedridden, senile and 89 years old lived with us. We woke up, my mom and I, and discovered that my grand-dad had passed on. Friends and relatives poured in, and as we waited for my dad to arrive from Nasik, my grandad's body lay in our drawing room- on a big block of ice. In between all the chaos, my mom remembered that I had a test in school- nothing too important, but a test nonetheless. "There is no reason for you to miss the test- just go to school." my mom admonished..and off I went -just for the test. That day, unbeknownst to her and me - my mom taught me that the show always must go on. 
It was the year 2004 and we were attending a cousin's wedding in Bangalore - at the other end of the city from our home. My mom, a serial businesswoman -who has constantly dabbled in one business after the other - was at the time selling tupperware like products for an Indian company called 'Cutting Edge'. Cutting edge, had an absolutely unique product - one that exhibited their marvellous understanding of the Indian psyche - a 'toothpaste squeezer'. A little contraption that ensured you wasted no toothpaste- and it was priced at the princely sum of 50 Rs. My mother's margin - might have been 10 Rs on each of those at best. On that day, in October 2004 - she had an order of half a dozen toothpaste squeezers. The customer - an old friend - wanted it urgently the same day as she was travelling the next day. The only challenge was that the objects lay at our home - some 20 kms away. So off my mom went, in the afternoon -while everybody was taking a nap between ceremonies- 20kmX2, to fulfil an order that would earn her Rs. 60, because she had to put the customer first!. I have seen my restless mom do several businesses over the years - selling embroidered linen, Cutting edge products and more recently - sarees. I have always marvelled how, without reading a single management book ever, my mom figured the basic tenets of selling successfully - always always put the customer first. 
For many years when I was young, my mom took tuition classes at home. That was her way of staying engaged without neglecting the household. She taught kids from ages 5 to 15, including many kids who were my classmates. She was so committed, she would just ask the kid that needed extra attention to come home straight from school and have lunch with us. Often the classes stretched from 3 in the after-noon to 9.00 pm and for the younger ones, she took a couple of hours in the morning. There would never be any corners cut, ever. She never watched the clock and never charged extra if a kid needed more time. She taught me then, what good work ethic looked like.
My mom never believed in charity. I have never seen her donate to causes bigger than her. But I have never seen somebody who takes better care of those that work for her. Radhamma, an old maid who is now too old to work, but has worked with my mom for close to 15 years, still comes home to a plateful of freshly cooked food everyday. Radhamma is picky and won't eat several things..but my mom always ensures that there is atleast one rasam made for Radhamma each day, if the menu does not have anything else that would satisfy her. If my mom travels alone, she instructs my dad to ensure Radhamma is fed. And Radhamma is just one- over the years, I have never seen anybody who works for my mom go without a meal- a breakfast, or a cup of tea. She once paid the driving school fees for the building car cleaner so he could become a driver - and he did. People who come to work for amma never leave-inspite of her acid tongue. They know beneath that rough exterior lies a golden heart. I try to do the same for the people that work for me - and now I know where I got that from. 
My mother and I have had a difficult relationship over the years. We are both headstrong, opinionated, stubborn and restless. I have often tried -very consciously to not emulate her, but as I age, I know, I am now, more like her than ever. My restless energetic mom, got herself a smart phone a few months ago and after incessantly bugging me and her grand-daughter Dhwani Ravi- has figured how to use whatsapp and Facebook at age 68!. Thank you ma Sarasa Mani - I wouldn't be me if you weren't you.