My Mother

It was Mother’s Day earlier this month, an outpouring of love and appreciation, flower bouquets, gifts, and cards everywhere. Words, thoughtfully written by loving children or phone calls made to mothers far away. Our thoughts went out to families struck by tragedy this year who could not celebrate. I remembered my mother.

She was soft-spoken, she was gentle, and she was very intelligent. She was dedicated to her family. I never heard my mother speak ill of anyone, needless to say, she rarely complained. My father once said he would have never achieved what he did in life without her support and cooperation.

My parents had set some standards on how their children were to be brought up. From an early age, we were taught to be thankful for our blessings, to respect others, maintain family values, and get a good education. My mother made sure this balance was maintained in our upbringing.

My Mother

Her day began early. After the morning chai, my mother would set about arranging our breakfast before we left for school or work. Eggs, toast, butter, and jam were our usual breakfast, followed by chai. Often the jam would be an imported one, perhaps a gift from someone coming home from overseas. For some reason, we all liked to have jam at breakfast, especially the imported ones! Occasionally, my mother would prepare a Hyderabadi breakfast of khichri, kheema, papad, and chutney on the weekends.

After breakfast, my mother usually read the newspaper, the Urdu daily, Rehnuma-e-Deccan, and made a few phone calls. Then she gave instructions to the cook for the day. Even though we had a cook, my mother would be in the kitchen every morning making sure the food was made exactly as she wanted.

On school days our lunch was sent from home in a “toshedan,” (a stainless steel food carrier with stacked containers, held together with a sidebar). My mother kept a dessert or a favorite food in the last container, which I looked forward to. And when we came home from school she had snacks and drinks ready for us.

I often found my mother sitting with her sewing machine sewing clothes for my sister and me or my cousins. In her quiet manner, my mother took care of her family and close relatives, whether it was helping with expenses, arranging a wedding, or just giving advice.

The only time of the day my mother reserved for herself was the afternoon, after lunch, when everyone was resting. She would retire to her room and read her books. She loved Urdu literature and poetry.

My mom understood us more than we understood ourselves. I would be surprised at the advice she gave me. Often the suggestions she made were something I really wanted to do but had not realized myself.

When I complained to her about difficult situations I had faced she would say "these problems are part of life, and if you managed to deal with them they were not that difficult." Even now when faced with an issue the first thought that comes to me is “is it something I can resolve, if I can, then I don’t have to worry too much about it.”

My parents believed traveling to different countries, getting to know other cultures, helped broaden one’s horizon. Hence my brother left Hyderabad for further studies, and my sister and I moved with our own families, but my parents continued living in Hyderabad. It must have been hard for my mother. She was happiest when surrounded by her family but she did not object because she knew it was best for her children.

The more I think of my mother I realize all her actions, everything she did, helped to make someone else happy or made their lives easier.