I write this as I watch my little girl snuggle next to me watching a movie.
Telling me I am the "bestest mother" in the world.
Remembering my father and mother.
When my mother would come back from a Club meeting and open her handbag and dole out some tidbits she managed to stuff into her kerchief. Not that we couldn't afford a samosa and a fruit cake. But the fact that she wouldn't dream of having a samosa when she knew my sister and I loved them.
Or when my father would always declare he loved having a not so great piece of chicken.
So that my sister and I had the choicest pieces.
Or when my mother went without new sarees and shoes, so that I could buy the most expensive Economics and Management books.
Or the times when she would spend that last fifty rupee in her wallet for my sister clamouring for a new pencil box.
I recollect times when I was unwell at night and she would wait up all night for me.
The exam days when she would sit up, half sleepy, making me tea and omelettes, so that I could study.
And then oneday we are all grown up.
Have a mind of our own.
Take pleasure in doing things we want.
Take even greater pleasure in saying things that we know will hurt them most.
As I look at Zoya, I realise that as a parent, it is just about loving.
While being firm when required.
Teaching them what we have learnt in life.
Being a guide and showing them the right direction.
Wishing them well.
And then letting go.
Mostly of expectations.
For, as Kahlil Gibran says, "You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow...."
Telling me I am the "bestest mother" in the world.
Remembering my father and mother.
When my mother would come back from a Club meeting and open her handbag and dole out some tidbits she managed to stuff into her kerchief. Not that we couldn't afford a samosa and a fruit cake. But the fact that she wouldn't dream of having a samosa when she knew my sister and I loved them.
Or when my father would always declare he loved having a not so great piece of chicken.
So that my sister and I had the choicest pieces.
Or when my mother went without new sarees and shoes, so that I could buy the most expensive Economics and Management books.
Or the times when she would spend that last fifty rupee in her wallet for my sister clamouring for a new pencil box.
I recollect times when I was unwell at night and she would wait up all night for me.
The exam days when she would sit up, half sleepy, making me tea and omelettes, so that I could study.
And then oneday we are all grown up.
Have a mind of our own.
Take pleasure in doing things we want.
Take even greater pleasure in saying things that we know will hurt them most.
As I look at Zoya, I realise that as a parent, it is just about loving.
While being firm when required.
Teaching them what we have learnt in life.
Being a guide and showing them the right direction.
Wishing them well.
And then letting go.
Mostly of expectations.
For, as Kahlil Gibran says, "You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow...."
