Aai

At the dawn of the year, as I saw myself walking into the thirties, I realised, that bound by the year, my mother and I could well be a childhood math puzzle. My mom turns twice as old as me, today.

As a child, it is hard to write about one's mother beyond all the motherly things she does. For most part of my childhood, I grew up idolising my father, and finding him, in so many things I did. It is only as I grew older, I acknowledge, there's more of my mother in me than I realise(d); our cheekbones to begin with.

My mother is the first strong-willed woman in my life. My parents were college sweethearts. Their  story began then. Love marriages weren't considered very appropriate in those times, and yet my mother, the eldest of 4 siblings, stormed her way into one. That draws me to say, my mother is a romantic.

Aai listens. Not just in the way we all talk to our mothers, and share our woes. She has this way with people. She makes strangers pour out their hearts in first encounters. We have so many stories, that these are a running joke in the family. I have always envied her ability to strike conversation.

My mother is a busy-bee. She doesn't take the time to revel in slow sunsets without a care in the world. She needs to be dragged into them. She needs to be told, often, to prioritise herself.

Aai is the voracious reader in the house. Though my father introduced me to books as friends, she is the one who carries a book everywhere in her purse. Her purse will also tell you she is always prepared for apocalypse. Well not exactly, but she keeps her stock of water and munchings, on the move.

From my mother, I have inherited the quality to keep ostensibly calm when things are chaotic. I am still perfecting her balance, to be unfazed, by the terrible humans we can be, while not losing faith in our ability to better ourselves.

I have this image of my mother that I often go back to when I think of her. It is a figment of my imagination as narrated by her. It must have been after we moved to the colony; some time after my brother and I had left the nest. It was the first rain of the monsoons. Mom was alone at home, and she walked into the backyard and spread her arms wide open in the rain (a la Shahrukh if that helps one imagine). It had been years since she had enjoyed the rain that way, alone and carefree. I hold on to this image, as it speaks to me of my mother as a person void the other tags, just her self and the rain in that moment of ephemeral tranquility.
That said, Aai loves rain, and she loves sipping coffee with rain dribbling over the mug.

Aai is goofy sometimes and sends us guffawing. She laughs at herself, often!
She laughs uncontrollably at the silliest of things. That's where the cheekbones help.
Of course I'd know!
I cherish the gift of both.

Happy birthday Aai !