Once upon a time she was a bubbly, cheerfull and a darling
sister of 04 sisters & brothers, who was independent, earning through a
respectable profession of a teacher, loved handiwork, chatting and playing with
family, dressing up, painting, and playing pranks. And then she got married to
a handsome and adorable guy and became a wife at 20. Then one day she had ME
and became a mother at 21. A few years later, she eventually had my cute
younger brother and added to the list of roles she previously was. She didn’t
realize the magical shift and that she had also became a cook, a dresser, a wiper
of our dirty faces, a cleaner of our soiled diapers, a nurse when we were ill,
an agent to retrieve our thrown socks, stationary and uniforms, a finder of our
lost shoes, a doer of our homework we left complete before retiring to bed and
an insomniac. She was a referee in our stupid wars, a slayer of culprits in our
nightmares, the angel face in all those fairytales that she’d narrated to us
every night. She was the expert creative chef, who had to come up with 1011
tiffin savories which could not be repeated very often, a duty-bound guard to
keep a check on our whereabouts, a tutor for all our subjects and an adorable
rewarder when we passed with flying colors. She was a soother of nervous school
jitters, a coach to prepare us for our tests and exams, a strict character when we scored poor marks. A sacrificer who bought cheaper dress for
herself so that we can get the things we had laid our hands on, who used to
hold the umbrellas to protect us from the sun or the rains and sometimes even
carry one of us who would get tired walking.
With each passing day, her talents grew: she became a baker
of delicious cakes, a hygienic competitor to the streetside chaat-wala, an
ice-cream vendor who distributed milkmaid flavoured kulfis not only to us but
to all our neighborhood playmates absolutely free-of-cost. An absolute enviable
dress maker for all mummies around, who used to make delectable treat for eyes
in form of sweaters and sewed prize-winning costumes for our fancy-dress
competitions, compose the best essays and poetry which would score us maximum
marks in the whole class, came up with the best ideas for our science
exhibition projects and painter of beautiful designs for my drawing classes.
She was my guide, strength and motivator
for all those numerous art-competitions that I participated in as a child and
won many, courtesy her ideas .
Her body, which was once her own to do with it as she
pleased, now belonged to us—she ate for ‘us’ when she was carrying us in her
womb, feeded us when her milk was the only source of food or life for us as
infants, her shoulders were used by us to cry upon, her arms to hug us whenever
we needed her warmth or security, her lap for us to sit and cuddle upon, her
hands which were used by us to eat many a times when we were too tired to use ours.
Her lips became the kissers and soothers for all our unstoppable tears and many
unreasonable boo-hoos.
She could give many styles to my hair, which I still wonder
how, seeing my then curls in photographs. A great coordinator with my dad in
the mornings, to turn the clock 10 mins ahead and wake us up, to dress us, feed
us and get both of us ready for school in 30 minutes flat. And moreover she
could smile for us even when she didn’t actually feel like. Her feet were used
to walk the house with us in her arms at any hour of the night, if we had a
difficult time sleeping. And as we were growing up, she even grew eyes in the
back of her head and her hearing became supersonic, so we should not fall into
any traps.
Her parents had named her ‘Parveen’ which meant a star. Then
as she became a mother and had many aliases—at various times—Mm, Ma, Ma-ma,
Mom, Mommy, Mummy, Mum… and many more, she turned to be the star of our lives. Her
free time which might have once been occupied to do things of her interest, was
now used to tidy the disorderly muddle of our toys, books, clothes, used
plates, a bed and carpet of clutter, chaos and a dwelling of disarray.
Her mind which might have once flourished with egocentric
thoughts of pampering herself, were few
a times filled with irrational questions: “What if they choke on their food or
pop in a coin or something?” “What if they fall out of the bed while I’m in the
kitchen?” “How safe would they be to get back home after dark from their
friends’ birthday party?” “What if they get in a wrong friend circle?” “Did I
say anything to hurt my sweethearts?” “Am I a good mother?” “How will I know if
I’m doing anything wrong in bringing them up?” etc… some of these insecurities
were visible on her face and some she shared with papa which we overheard!
For both of us, my Mumma has been and always will be our
ideal icon… she is not amongst us anymore but I would say “I have an angel
watching over me and I call her MOMMY”… This vacuum in our lives can’t be
filled ever! Love you Mama and Miss you tons!
