HELLO JI!
ONCE WAS A GIRL
Seeing her as ‘mother’ always, we sometimes forget that she, too, was once young and mischievous. Image credit: Mother and child, circa 1935, Wellington, New Zealand, courtesy Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa on Unsplash.
At a recent dinner gathering, a friend’s son related – with much relish – the story of his mother’s inaugural roller coaster ride.
“She’s always telling us to overcome our fears so I challenged her to overcome hers and off we went to Canada’s Wonderland. You know what she did? Squeezed her eyes shut, clutched my hand and screamed ‘Mummmeeeee!’ all the way!”
We all got a good laugh out of this, but it got me thinking how we don’t see our parents as the young people they once were.
My mother passed away when she was very young. I didn’t get to see her age, but still, she was always “mummy”. Who, remarkably, had always looked like she did at that point in time. There was no awareness of what she must have been before that moment. I’d sit down with family albums and ask my parents about the people in the old B&W or sepia prints. Who were they? How were we related? And the fun stories associated with them. My parents were shy, and a little reticent – as was the norm in their generation – about their own love story. And I never thought to ask. Parents and love stories just didn’t belong in the same sentence. Their love for each other was manifest in a myriad, small, unobtrusive ways to which I remained blind.
Why didn’t I see then what I see in the old photographs now?
Even as I went through the images from years gone by, teasing her over the changing fashions, or admiring the length of her hair, I never saw her as anything but mummy.
I recall a discussion with a dear family friend of my parents.
An academic himself, he admitted to being surprised and a little saddened when his brilliant daughter chose to step away from her career at a prestigious university where she was working with a Nobel laureate.
“Are you giving up science?” he asked. “Not quite,” she said, “but I want to take care of my son for now”.
“I believe we should give our children the best education they can willingly have along with the best values we can offer and then leave it to them to decide what they think is best for them and for those who depend on them,” he said. “In a patriarchal society men and fathers tend to impose their views on their children and on daughters in particular.”
Years after losing my mother, I came across the incredibly beautiful poem by Nida Fazli that I will admit I shed a few tears over.
The last few lines, in particular, really resonate with me.
Din bhar ik rassi ke uupar chalti natni jaisi maa
Baant ke apna chehra matha ankhen jaane kahan gai
Phate purane ik album mein chanchal ladki jaisi maa
A mother performs a balancing act daily, juggling various roles.
Who knows where the playful young girl we see in old, torn albums vanished,
leaving behind her likeness in facial features in her family?
Seeing her as ‘mother’ always,
we sometimes forget that she, too,
was once young and mischievous.
Happy Mother’s Day! Happy South Asian Heritage Month!
Shagorika Easwar