I Will Call India to Say Nine Simple Words … “I Love You, Thank You for Being My Ma”
- On this Mother’s Day, in these tumultuous times, uttering the word Ma – a simple syllable of love — has a special resonance.
It’s that time of the year again. Portraits of quaint moments between mothers and their children in jewelry commercials on TV, advertisements for festive floral arrangements popping up across the Internet, drugstore entryways blocked by bunches of heart-shaped balloons emblazoned with messages of love for “Mom” — displays of filial devotion are everywhere.
For those who want to celebrate the maternal figures in their lives, it can be a joyous time, an excuse to gather around a brunch table and share some joy. For others, Mother’s Day is just another Hallmark Holiday, a day marked by the nagging anxiety to get a card in the mail or make a phone call in time.
I have always landed squarely in the first category…first as a child unleashing my creativity in the form of homemade cards and gifts, slowly graduating to more sophisticated presents and homemade meals. Even as I came to the U.S. to pursue a PhD, I never forgot Mother’s Day.
But this year feels different – the gifts and flowers forgotten. India is being overwhelmed by a heart-breaking wave of COVID-19 cases – and my daily calls to my mother are filled with worry, not celebration.
So, this year, I am giving my mom this gift from the heart. “Ma” – this simple syllable was not my first word – or so my aunts like to tell me — but it is my favorite. I’m an only child (clearly, once you achieve perfection, you have to stop… just kidding!) However, as an only child, I was the sun, my mother an orbiting planet. Her day began and ended with me. Every memory I have of her centers around her fulfilling my simplest wants and needs – be it cooking my favorite foods, buying me that beautiful dress I coveted so dearly even when it wasn’t in the monthly budget, knowing fully well she’d have to cut corners or else answer to my dad, or as I grew older, being the buffer between me and my rigid father.
My childhood was idyllic because she made it so. We weren’t rich, far from it. But I never realized this till I grew up, and that was only because of Ma. She loves me…unconditionally…no matter how much of a pain I can be. She always saw the best in me, and always celebrated my triumphs…no matter how small they were. Ma never dwelled on my failures, she always picked me up, dusted me off and got me back out there. Even when my father, whom I never saw eye to eye with, was engaged in an epic battle of words with me (of which there were quite a few), she was there, standing stoic between us, ready to come to my defense like a tigress protecting her cub.
And she remains the biggest champion of my writing, honestly believing I could be the next ABC. She was there, holding my hand as I gave birth far away from home. She was there when I brought my first daughter home… and my second. She was there when I needed to sleep, when I needed to cry, when I was spent and needed to be reminded that tomorrow was another day and that this too shall pass.
Today, surrounded by my two girls, I think about my Ma and the millions of other mothers in India who are stranded alone at home on Mother’s Day, Covid raging around them, and just want to hug her and tell her that ‘Ma, this too shall pass.’ So, on May 9, as mothers and daughters on this side of the world enjoy brunch and bubbly, I will call India to say nine simple words… “I love you, thank you for being my Ma.”