Unspoken but true...
Having written about my sister and my dad, my mom felt more than a little left out..and I kept getting asked why I hadn't written about her. And I did tell her I would..but somehow I have never been able to put those words to paper.
And it is a question I have not been able to answer as well. I talk about her to anyone who will listen(it doesn't really have to be willing listener :-)). I am so much in awe of her, she amazes us..all of us every single day with her laughter, her resilience, her understanding, her wit, her sheer brilliance. Our family is unique because of what she brings to it. In spite of that, I find it difficult to write about her, to express my love and gratitude to her, and that is something I battle with every single day.
She is the one person I have fought with the most all my life. Even if I discount all my fights that happened when I was back home, even if I attribute all those to childish outbursts, to tantrums of a child who knew no better, not a woman, there is still no excuse for the amount of arguments we have now. Its become a joke now, that my mom and I cannot live for more than a week in each other's presence without arguing. But behind that joke, there is a lot of truth.
I see so much of her in me, in the way I talk, in the kind of jokes I make, in the way I laugh, in the way I used to interact with V. I am a much more blurred, not quite version of her. In my gestures, which have been mine for years now, I see most of them, if not all are hers, right till the way she nods when talking to someone.
My mom writes poetry for us. She taught me to live life by my rules. She taught me to stand up for what I believe in, even if sometimes my beliefs are drastically different, even conflict with what my parents' beliefs are.
From small things like encouraging me to wear skirts and dresses. She told me to enjoy wearing them as much as I could, because there will always be time to wear salwar suits, to wear sarees; that if I stopped wearing dresses, by the time I was old enough to want to wear them, I would have become self concious about how I look in anything but sarees and salwar suits. And I realised how right she was. Today, I am one of the few people I know who can carry off skirts and dresses with as much elan as I can carry of salwars and saris. There isn't an outfit I feel uncomfortable in.
To big things like not being afraid to tell them anything. To keeping the faith in my parents, to knowing that they will be my rock like support no matter what messes I get into. When I have tested the limits of the love of a parent, when most parents would have decided to turn their backs, my parents...my mom has stood by me. In spite of all the disappointment I have put them through, every time I have reached out, they have been right there, with my Mom right in front..waiting to envelope me in the comfort of my family..most times I haven't even had to reach out...they've been my shadow..there to catch me when I falter even a little.
Maybe that is why I find it so so difficult to write about my mother....I wouldn't know what to do without her. She is my faith, she is in all of me, there is nothing that I can separate from my concious to attribute to her..she is my strength, and my weakness at times, she is my sense of humour, she aslo is my tears at times, she is my bravery, as well as my cowardice, she is my virtue and my vice....my Mom in one word is my life...and if I never ever say it again...i want her to know that I know how blessed I am to be her daughter..that I am honoured that she gave me life and more, that she is my pride.
And it is a question I have not been able to answer as well. I talk about her to anyone who will listen(it doesn't really have to be willing listener :-)). I am so much in awe of her, she amazes us..all of us every single day with her laughter, her resilience, her understanding, her wit, her sheer brilliance. Our family is unique because of what she brings to it. In spite of that, I find it difficult to write about her, to express my love and gratitude to her, and that is something I battle with every single day.
She is the one person I have fought with the most all my life. Even if I discount all my fights that happened when I was back home, even if I attribute all those to childish outbursts, to tantrums of a child who knew no better, not a woman, there is still no excuse for the amount of arguments we have now. Its become a joke now, that my mom and I cannot live for more than a week in each other's presence without arguing. But behind that joke, there is a lot of truth.
I see so much of her in me, in the way I talk, in the kind of jokes I make, in the way I laugh, in the way I used to interact with V. I am a much more blurred, not quite version of her. In my gestures, which have been mine for years now, I see most of them, if not all are hers, right till the way she nods when talking to someone.
My mom writes poetry for us. She taught me to live life by my rules. She taught me to stand up for what I believe in, even if sometimes my beliefs are drastically different, even conflict with what my parents' beliefs are.
From small things like encouraging me to wear skirts and dresses. She told me to enjoy wearing them as much as I could, because there will always be time to wear salwar suits, to wear sarees; that if I stopped wearing dresses, by the time I was old enough to want to wear them, I would have become self concious about how I look in anything but sarees and salwar suits. And I realised how right she was. Today, I am one of the few people I know who can carry off skirts and dresses with as much elan as I can carry of salwars and saris. There isn't an outfit I feel uncomfortable in.
To big things like not being afraid to tell them anything. To keeping the faith in my parents, to knowing that they will be my rock like support no matter what messes I get into. When I have tested the limits of the love of a parent, when most parents would have decided to turn their backs, my parents...my mom has stood by me. In spite of all the disappointment I have put them through, every time I have reached out, they have been right there, with my Mom right in front..waiting to envelope me in the comfort of my family..most times I haven't even had to reach out...they've been my shadow..there to catch me when I falter even a little.
Maybe that is why I find it so so difficult to write about my mother....I wouldn't know what to do without her. She is my faith, she is in all of me, there is nothing that I can separate from my concious to attribute to her..she is my strength, and my weakness at times, she is my sense of humour, she aslo is my tears at times, she is my bravery, as well as my cowardice, she is my virtue and my vice....my Mom in one word is my life...and if I never ever say it again...i want her to know that I know how blessed I am to be her daughter..that I am honoured that she gave me life and more, that she is my pride.
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