sutra dhar

My mother never brought me up ‘by hand’. Juggling her work… her office, the regulation home maker’s rhythms, she really had enough time to see me through. Of course, twenty years back, life was still uncluttered. The enlightened kid, the democratic parents and the neo-western education system had not yet been concocted into a heady mess. Life was slow, demands were justifiable and ya… the woman still had the back seat. I do not know if the ‘equal music’ has been scored today but I believe somewhere the dignity is lost both sides.
My maa, with an Economics major from the Calcutta University seemed to have mastered a lot of electives on the way! The most important being… an ever smiling demeanor and a strength that wasn’t exactly word-power!
The morning tea, the religious ritual, the newspaper, my lunch pack for school- everything had a definitive, optimized approach, delivery. She never jarred anything beyond proportion. The lunch menu, the directions to the maid, handling the inefficiencies of each member of the family… she knew the reeds too well. I would watch her get ready for the office and there would be an amazing calm; the restlessness would show sometimes but then the adrenalin never took charge. She selected her saris tastefully- as I would say, she never wore a sari twice! But then she knew how to handle her sweetly assembled collection.
She would walk down the road and disappear round the corner, or later when she would ride pillion with my father on her way to office, I would really be curious to know what played on her mind!
My lunch would be measured out in various bowls and neatly arranged; invariably having something that I would love to eat… something everyday… she never missed that. She would call and enquire if I liked the food.
She encouraged my football, loved my essays (though it was she who made me understand the nuances of words and love the language) and listened to all the plans that I would thread for the futures. She believed in the independence- of thought, in action and for consequences. She never told me stories and had to be forced to sing a Tagore’s but she has a lovely voice!!
Her handwriting seemed to have a geometrical measure and symmetry… just like her. Her small note book of accounts, her office bag with the double tipped blue and red pen… her reading glasses and sun glasses! Everything was/is so neatly arranged, accounted for…
She never pressed the rank buttons on me… never tried to decide my subjects… never put the cart before the horse with her demands… she believed in the abstracts of life. She believed in resilience. For her, a smiling face meant a lot more than victory with a vengeance. I never demanded the moon and the sun… that is how I was brought up but then wishes and desires were safe with her… and still is!

The bar of dairy milk still awaits me when I go home… the letters, ya, snail mail, the inland letters, still talk about the principles of life and her support for my decisions and trust in me, of what I am. It does not talk about her needs, her aspirations for me- it does not carry any laundry list of expectations! It carries a lot more than that… beyond words…
How has my relation changed with my maa…. I don’t know. She was a friend, she still is one and maybe I would never know when she donned the motherly cloak.
She tells me the worldly modalities and the various mantras of social living but again never enforces them… be it the finances, the daily management or the career plans ahead. In time life opens up, new people, new relations germinate, metamorphose… the fast pace of existence leaves behind a lot of names, voices… memories. But with my mother… life will always be a one on one! At times I take liberties of a grown up, against her… she never refutes, never tells me to watch out… she just remains silent. And when I realize the folly, it’s so easy to rectify… so easy to say a sorry and mean it too!
She has sacrificed a lot of accomplishments, a lot in the career front, for the people who matter to her. The family is upheld but the individual takes a back seat- the concepts are changing and the guns of equality are firing today. Its not a question of who’s right…..who’s wrong- it’s a perspective that I have grown up with and have a lot of respect, a lot of regards for. Even now she tells me… that I do not have to think about her and that I don’t have to worry about the finances, her old age and all… huh… I guess that’s her. She means it, you can see it in her eyes- a lot of strength, calm and a lurking happyness that has been all that she has ever looked for… strived for… selfless.

Nothing has changed- the smile, the pitch, the emotions, the look, the unspoken spells… the rituals, the gamut of home and office management…. Nothing! Nothing has changed… and it won’t… I know… cause some people, some relations hold us together, above the self, irrespective of time and distance, their magic, their blessings and support remain.
She still is scared of the escalator… never rides a taxi alone even in Calcutta… and not very sure of the electronics around the house but I guess… these never define life! They never define our success… our strength… contributions. So even now when she sits down at the dinner table after serving even the second helping to everybody… life stares at me with all the possessions I can ask for. Maybe I can’t tell her what she means to me… or might be she already knows but still maa… thanks for everything!!