Spice of Life: Mothering my mother with tender love, care
As I massaged her feeble legs with warm mustard oil, the sight compelled me to pleasantly imagine how she would bounce me lightly up and down on the same knees, strong and sturdy then, to melt my cries into giggles.
Watching my octogenarian mother having a morsel offered by me with her toothless gums conjured up the image of my cradle-bound self in her loving care decades ago. As I massaged her feeble legs with warm mustard oil, the sight compelled me to pleasantly imagine how she would bounce me lightly up and down on the same knees, strong and sturdy then, to melt my cries into giggles. The role reversal was apparent as I mothered my mother.
When she fell ill owing to her debilitating age and visited me for a few days, I admit I found it a bit difficult initially to oversee her daily dietary and medical needs until I recalled her indefatigable spirit to stay up through the night when I ran fever as a child, repeatedly applying wet cloth soaked in ice water to my forehead. As I caught hold of her arms to offer her support while she took a stroll in the lawn, I was reminded of her robust fingers entwining my little ones, helping me convert my wobbling steps into a confident gait.
Despite having had no formal education, my mother would thumb through my textbooks, often erroneously trying to read them out loud in order to get me interested in studies. She strived hard in her own way to get me to improve my rank in the final exams at school. Call it a matter of time for I’d pile up a stack of religious books and scriptures on her bedside table beside her myriad tablet strips, vial injections, and syrups with the similar aim of reading them out to her as a substitute for her weak eyesight to ensure she too gets improved ‘cosmic’ rankings in the final exam of life.
I would share anecdotes covering a wide array of random topics, sing bygone lullabies she once sang to me and recount intriguing bedtime tales that would soon find her sleeping snug like a baby.
Keeping a hawk’s eye on her binging habits became my compulsive monomania. Her gastronomic urges would nudge me to lecture her, unwillingly though, knowing that our taste-buds ironically turn more active during our fading years. I’d do just as she would to me during my growing-up years when I’d take a sneak trip to the kitchen to nibble at my favourite cookies and sweets only to end up receiving a scolding at full steam with the aim to see me in the pink of health.
To be honest, I’m nowhere near to how painstakingly caring she was to me when I was a child.
Now that she’s feeling better and packing for her return, I asked her if she’d like to visit me again and spend some more days with her “new mother”. She shrugged and smiled before saying, “Tu te sachi apni maa di maa bann gyihain (You’ve become the mother of your mother, indeed).”
For the next few seconds, our eyes were locked in mute conversation as we tried to humbly accept the sweeping vagaries of time. Change is the only constant and as we all go through the stages of life, it’s better to embrace them with grace and open arms.
The writer is a homemaker based at Chalet village in Una and can be reached at rama.kumari030165@gmail.com