My mom's not the typical mother. She never has been.

At 23, I find myself narrating to her incidents that took place in my sixth standard, how I coped with exams in class VII, how I failed for the first and last time in maths, how much I worked as a prefect...

Ma was always there -- and still never was.

I served food for myself when I came home from school, I completed my homework on my own, I made my own cup of Bournvita in the evenings and rocked myself to sleep at night. Daddy ferried me to school and back till I got my own bicycle, he would always be at the parent-teacher meetings, he attended each sporting event I participated in, he glowed with pride at the awards functions and never missed any of my concerts. And, no, he was not a house dad. He also had a job to take care of.

In spite of Dad's omnipresence, I missed Ma.

Each of my friends could spot my father from a distance -- almost as well as they could find their own dads in a crowd. As for Ma? They would meet her too -- once every year. At my birthday parties. She would play the perfect hostess, looking after each of my guests with cheerful maternal affection. She would make sure each and every person felt at ease. She played games with them. She made fabulous snacks. She cracked jokes and made them squeal with laughter. Ma was a complete hit with my cronies. They loved her!

But I? I missed Ma.

Home science classes were a nightmare because of her! We had to sew, embroider, knit and paint! And it was not a problem for anyone else in class but me. I was a decent enough painter, but the rest of the girlie stuff? Oof! Everyone would submit fascinating mirrorwork cushions, beaded purses, cross-stitched wall hangings and fancy frocks. I could only account for a straight-knit muffler, sloppy scarves and painted pillow covers. I didn't have the kind of mom all of them had.

Mine worked. Full-time!

Yeah. Ma worked from nine to six, seven, sometimes eight in the evening, and then came back to attend to household chores. The moment she would step into the house, the air would become electric. The vegetables had to be chopped and the buckets filled between seven to nine for the following day's needs. While dinner was being prepared, she also had to make provisions for the next day's breakfast and lunch. All I remember of Ma in those days were glimpses of her scuttling from the kitchen to the porch tap.

Ma and Daddy would catch up with each other's lives at dinnertime, while I flipped channels hoping something would take my mind off their conversation. She never asked me how my day was. She did not know about my assignments. She was not aware her daughter felt more at home while at school. But she did kiss me good night without fail. That was always the last thing she did to end her day. And mine.

But... I missed Ma.

My last award function at school. As I stepped onto the stage to receive the Best Student award, my eyes searched the auditorium even though I knew she wouldn't be there. I saw Daddy wearing his best navy blue suit and sporting his widest grin. He looked fatter that day. Or maybe he was just swelling with pride. And just as my lips curved to flash a smile back at him, I saw her! Ma had come! She had taken a half-day off from office to be part of her only child's moment of glory. My mom was there.

Three years of graduation and a year of computing saw the same moments flash by. Daddy would still take me to college at times and Ma would still be scampering between the kitchen and the porch tap. I had become used to it. I guess it was routine. And it would have carried on thus had I not landed myself a job away from my hometown. Ma was the chief manager of her bank now and lined up for a promotion that would surely have her relocated to a metro city. Daddy could not shift base. All three members of our family would be in different parts of the country. It was a tough call.

Ma resigned.

She gave up her job so that our family life would not be disturbed. She had committed 28 years of her life to the bank and then, at the prime age of 48, she quit. It's been a year-and-a-half now since she assumed the role of housewife. And she is revelling in it.

I left my job and came back home after 10 months of working full-time because I wanted to study further. And in these past seven months, Ma and I have relived the past 22 years of our lives. I have taken her back to my school and shown her each of my classes. She has met some of the teachers who taught me and we have had a good laugh reminiscing how I fainted during the dissection hours in the biology lab. Ma and I have watched movies together. We have gone out window-shopping just to while away our time. We have had impromptu dine-out lunches.

Ma and I have bonded.

All these years I thought Ma never cared, without realising how much she did. I focussed only on my needs and forgot to take into cognizance the fact that she is also a human being. It's not easy to shoulder the responsibilities of being a homemaker, a wife, a mother and an employee. It is difficult to be on your toes all the time and yet please everybody. It is certainly a daunting task to brave the challenges on the work front and not have a helping hand at home. I know now how much it hurt her not to be able to take time out to attend my scholastic events. I understand now how much she wanted to be a part of all my achievements. I know Ma wanted to help me.

And she did.

By not making a beaded purse for me, she made me realise I should be responsible for my own work. By not monitoring my studies, she made sure I honoured my commitments myself. By not pampering me with maternal indulgences, she made me wiser. By not escorting me to my coaching classes or elsewhere, she helped me brave the world. By not wiping my tears, she helped me become stronger. By not interfering in my decisions, she prompted me to discover myself. By not infringing upon my privacy, she taught me to respect everybody's private lives. By letting me do what I wanted to, she let me tap my potential.

Ma was always there. It's just that I was not mature enough to see her.

As I pack my bags to leave home once again, I want to tell you Ma that I love you. I do not know if I have been able to live up to your expectations, but I do know I have tried to make you proud.

I have learnt a lot from you, Ma, the primary lesson being that of giving. You have been the anchor in our lives and have given Daddy and me the support and love that only you could. You have helped me find my wings. And you continue to inspire me to fly.

I will miss your goodnight kiss, Ma.

And I will miss YOU.

Happy Mother's Day, Mrs Bhatia. And to all you mothers out there.

Illustration: Uttam Ghosh

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