Mumma

Amma, mumma, meemee, many names one person, Mrs Gita Bhadran. She has been my voice of reason for the past 32 years. My day starts and ends with either a word of praise from her or a proper talking down.  I'm a married woman today, mother to a hyper 4 month old, a daughter-in-law, a home-maker, a naggy employee to all my house-maids, but I'll never stop being my mother's daughter. 

Right from the decor in the house, to what I wear, to what I eat, to the mundane decisions I make everyday such as what type of dustbin to buy for the bedroom, kitchen and for the baby's diapers, are all consciously or unconsciously influenced by her. She is my sounding board, my agony aunt, my best friend and so much more. 

Her signature statement, "When you have a child of your own, you will understand", has come back to haunt me. You truly understand the physical and emotional effort a mother puts in to raise a child, only when you have one of your own. You put aside your exhaustion, your body aches and pains and forget that you haven't slept the whole night, simply to tend to the needs of your child. 

I have always been an open book with my mother. There is nothing that I haven't discussed with her. If I ever attempted to hide something from her as a teenager, she would promptly catch me red-handed and have a frank discussion with me. 

Whenever I felt down and out, felt a bit under-confident or whined to her about something or someone that bothered me, she would say, "You are my daughter. You can take on anything. Be bold. Be strong". I would always snigger internally when she said this, because she has lived with an Army officer for 25 years, meaning she was ready to lose her husband to war or terrorists at any given point in time. 

She would narrate to me incidents of how she had to fight with school principals for admissions, how she had to bathe in a flimsy tent in the middle of the desert, how my brother always fell ill when my father was not around and how she travelled with him to unknown places all across the country. Every 2 years they had to pack up leave, which meant my brother studied in a dozen odd schools. 

Just listening to these stories, brings an ache in my heart for both my mom and my brother. It truly is the lady of the house, who shapes everyone in that household. She took a step back in her career, to allow my dad's career to flourish. She stayed at home to raise my sibling and I. Everything that we are today, is all thanks to her.

If I have any regrets in life, it would be all the times I gave her a hard time, or didn't listen to her or yelled back. All the decisions I have taken without consulting her have all come back to bite me now. 

I love you mumma. I don't need one day in the year to celebrate you. Everyday is mother's day for me. May you live to be a 100!