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My Mom is a Living Presence .

by Sudha Chandrasekaran
(Coimbatore, India)

Mother’s Day is celebrated on the second Sunday in the month of May every year. Both my daughters wish me” Happy Mother’s Day” every year from the US. I do ask myself,” Why is it that it has to be only once a year? Do we not think of our moms everyday or for that matter, in some context or the other several times every day? If I happen to be in the US during at that time, my daughters treat me to a delicious lunch or dinner at Saravana Bhavan... They do coax me to visit some Mexican or Italian restaurant but my choice is Saravana Bhavan and they accede to my request!


In Bharatiya concept, everyday is Mother’s Day…My daughters call me every day and I keep waiting for their calls. I love to hear the verses of Oscar nominated Pi’s Lullaby, which is a declaration of love by a mother to her child. I have experienced the pure unconditional and strong motherly of my Amma (Babyma for me) and see the same reflect on me towards my own children.

I had a shoulder to cry and an ear to listen to all my ‘stories’ …whether it be about my friends, school or for that matter anything! AS I emphasize the role of Babyma this is not to say that my Appa was less important, but my interactions with my mother was more and I think it is the same with most of us..I remember the days when Babyma used to mix ‘paruppu podi sadam’ and give me a fistful before she partook of it! How can I forget the touch of the gentle hand on my forehead when I had fever; the handkerchief that wiped my nose when I had a running nose and instinctively I tugged at Babyma’s saree pallu to wipe it off! She had sat in the hot sun during my sports meet instead of watching me from the shade of the tree from far away. Why? Because when I asked her, “Did you see me?” she would say, “Of course, I would not have missed it for the world,” and meant it too! I have hurt her several times knowingly or unknowingly; have created a big scene when she could not, for some reason prepare the food of my choice; had said NO to a number of dresses which she had selected for me. It seemed like small mistakes but I have made her cry, sad, upset and even depressed . Despite all this, she has always forgiven me and showered me with immense love always.

For Babyma, a bowl of mouth watering ‘ thair sadam with vadu mangai’ meticulously prepared everyday was a ritual, a religion, a reminder of where she had come from, an expression of love for her family. Whenever I, along with my children visited my maternal home, my mother would ask, bustling to the door, “Saappitacha?” Before we could answer, would offer us ‘thair sadam’.

My nephew, watching me from the dining table would say, “I remember my mom making the perfect their sadam like Patti.” His voice was wistful, nostalgic, as if recalling a lost love.

How can I ever forget the days when my Mom helped me to fly my kite higher and higher when the strong winds used to blow. It reminds me how mothers let her children climb higher and higher. She still has the kite’s string to pull back her kids if the wind current gets too strong. There are myriads of such memories which are treasured secrets.

Gradually as she grew older, the roles were reversed and I started playing her mother’s role. I remember her adding an extra spoonful of sugar to her morning coffee (Amma was a diabetic) when I left the kitchen on some errand. If by chance I entered the kitchen, she used to tell me, “Added only a little bit of sugar, not much,” which tugged at the strings of my heart.

In a hospital in my neighbourhood, I have witnesses Alzheimer residents searching for their mothers forgetting that they have passed away years ago. There is not a single day that goes by when something or the other keeps reminding me of my beloved mother. Years have gone by and she is no more and as I grow older, I realize that more than a memory she is a living presence.

On looking back, I realize that being a mother is not certainly easy. Now that I am a mother I understand that there are special moments and at times stress and frustration takes over. When I left my parental home, I felt miserable on leaving my Mom, who had sacrificed her entire life for her kids for making us what we are today. Even now I shudder to think of the day when my two daughters, then aged six and eight, had got caught in the ethnic riots in Sri Lanka.I cried non-stop the whole day till they both returned home from their school. I shut down the TV for the fear of seeing some disaster. Now it is a thing of the past!! I am very happy that both my daughters, who have now left the nest, are in constant touch with us even though they are in a very far off land. The moment the phone rings at their ‘usual phoning time’, my heart leaps with joy. Yes, I am a mother too!

According to a research, the link between a mother and her child is profound and it suggests a physical connection much deeper than anybody’s guess. The deep psychological and physical bonds shard by the mother and the child begins during gestation, when the mother is everything for the developing foetus-supplying warmth and sustenance, while the heart beat provides a soothing constant rhythm. Also the tender loving care in childhood is found to reduce a person’s risk of conditions including diabetes and heart disease in adulthood.

These words from my daughters constantly ring in my ears -
And wherever we go you can be sure
In spirit you shall never be alone.
For where you is what matters most to us,
Because to us that will always be home.

I look back on memories of my mother, and hope I can give my children what my mother gave to me. As long as my mother’s memory is in my heart, she is never truly gone from my life!

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Note from the publisher: I'm sorry I couldn't publish it before the Mother's Day though I had received it earlier.

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