Riding into the Sunset Together

The summer heat of Delhi. A Maruti 800 Non-AC Car. A bad traffic jam. Definitely not the perfect romantic setting. And yet that is where I found love so pure that it touched my heart to the core.

It was around the year 2001 and we had recently moved to Delhi. Some important errand had got us out of the comfort of home and brought us in direct contact of the unrelenting sun. Stuck in a traffic jam, I was bored (the year 2001 meant that there was no mobile phone and hence, no Candy crush to keep me engaged!) and in a super foul mood. To kill time, I started looking out of the window and saw a beautiful scene unfold.

A man on a bicycle arrived next to me with his newly wed wife as a pillion rider in front of him. She was wearing a bright red synthetic silk sari that must have made her feel hotter; cheap, imitation jewellery that was sure to give an allergy to lesser mortals like me and the Briiiiiiiiightest smile that I have ever seen in my life. While I was grumbling about the oppressive heat even in the sanctuary of our car, she was oblivious to everything but her husband- chattering away excitedly, her face held a look of unadulterated happiness and adoration, an adoration that made the husband sit just a little straighter with pride while he listened to his smitten wife.

All too soon, the jam cleared and they rode away to what was probably their first date leaving me with a smile on my face and a belief that real happiness does not need roses or solitaires, it lies in that one look from a loved one which tells you that you are his or hers, Forever.

When Ma was no longer the 'Mother'

I call my mother by different names, right from Mata, Maiya and Amma to Mum, Mummy or whatever suits my fancy at any given point of time. However, the name that she most relates to and the name that she always uses to sign her letters and now emails with is 'Ma'- A simple, strong word that suits her personality to a T.

While other mothers cry when their daughters leave home to build a career and life for themselves, my mother happily set up my cupboard in the new hostel, gave me a cheery kiss, said I love you and walked off without any emotional drama. When I got hurt, she briskly gave me first aid along with a healthy helping of daant curry on how i was not careful enough. The word fear does not exist in her dictionary and so when one fine day, a nurse in a white uniform walked in and said the mother needed to sign a consent form for a major operation, Ma agreed to do so without a flinch.

As she extended her hand for the pen and form, the nurse gave a smile and repeated the statement with a slight emphasis on 'mother'. And that is when it hit both of us, Ma was no longer the mother- she was the soon to be Grandmother! The form was for a proposed C-section and I was the one who was supposed to sign it. I was the new mother in town with absolutely no idea of how to go about it.

Six months, some heavy duty Mommy training, countless feedings, kilos of poop, gurgles of laughter and small bouts of crying later, I am now a seasoned campaigner- my little son has learnt the art of calling me 'Ma' (a story that I'll leave for another day ;) ) however, the word for me still stands for my mother and probably always will!