Ode to my second mom
I have been wanting to write this blog for quiet sometime now. This is my humble tribute to an innocent, childlike, sweetly stubborn woman. Her name is Melrose and she used to be my Mother-in-Law.
Amma passed away on January 12th this year. We never really shared the perfect saas-bahu relationship. Infact I hardly had the occasion to interact in length with her, in the first 3 years of my marriage. That was because, our's being a love marriage, the two of us chose to live separate, away from the rest of the family. This meant that whatever little time we spent together was on the weekly visits my husband and I made to her house. Even in that it was a sparse conversation. She would mumble a few words in Tamil and I would mumble back in Kannada. This wasn't because we were not fond of each other. We hardly knew each other to form an opinion. For me it was the hesitation of not being the bahu she chose coupled with the fact that I felt like an outsider, an intruder in that big family. For her it was the fact that her son had married a girl who was well educated (unlike her or her other bahus) and who was used to a very different lifestyle (which she probably felt she was incapable of providing herself). In a way she was scared to talk to me in the fear of speaking something wrong!
It was only when I was pregnant and due to deliver that we had to ask her to come and live with us. We had decided that I would not go to my mom's place for the delivery. This meant that an experienced person was required to stay with me during those crucial months when the baby was born. Both of us were hesitant to ask her. We had never really asked her to stay over even for a night at our house, before. Would this make us look very 'matlabi'? But we did ask her and she readily agreed. It was a huge relief for us and my parents who were feeling terrible about not being there for their daughter at this time. A week before I was due, she moved in with us.
With this our whole world changed. Both of us had been used to just being the only people around at home. Even small things like control over the TV remote, our favorite spot on the sofa, the kind of food we prepared, all changed. The initial days together were not without a few hiccups. We are all unsure about what the other expected from us. Would it be wrong to have lunch before the other person ( we all ate at different times), would it be wrong to say I didn't like a particular food she had prepared, would it be wrong to shut the door of your room when you needed some privacy etc etc. But we did quiet well I must say. We got along fine and each of us made our own little adjustments to fit in. So I started reading more books and newspapers so that she could watch her favorite soaps on Sun TV. My husband started bringing fruits and bhel puri and other things home, in the evenings, so that we could enjoy our evening family times together. Amma started instructing the cook to prepare those
vegetables which I liked and avoided those that I hated.
What I admired most about her was her enthusiasm and zeal for life. A new chocolate or a new saree delighted her like it would a small girl. She would never shrug away from responsibility. When I decided to go back to work early after exhausting my Maternity Leave, due to certain unavoidable reasons, she readily volunteered to take care of my daughter all by herself. My baby was only 4 months then! We felt that we were burdening her at that age (she was 76) but she felt otherwise. This was the baby of her favorite son. She was only too happy. Time passed and soon it was 2 years since she had moved in with us. The occasional clashes, arguments, upsets did take place. Everything cant be perfect all the time, right? But they just came and went. We would move on like nothing had ever happened. I could often get a sense that amma preferred our house now to the houses of her other children. This made me feel happy. Somewhere I felt obliged to her for all that she was doing, for me, for my daughter and for us. But the sad part was that behind her energetic, ever ready, strong self we failed to spot an ageing woman. One who ought to be relaxing and spending her time getting other people to do things for her and not one who in fact was exhausting herself taking care of a hyper active 2 year old, apart from running the house in the absence of a daughter-in-law trying to do justice to her job!
The greatest thing about Amma was that she did her duty till the end. Even on the day she was admitted to the hospital (which would eventually lead to her demise) she picked my daughter back from playschool and fed her and put her to sleep. In the evening when she felt that all was not well with her, she caught an auto and got to her daughter's house. She handed my daughter over to my co-sisters for care taking and then got herself admitted in the hospital. I couldn't help but notice that even in that time she hadn't forgotten to carry extra clothes for my daughter, should she require a change! The sad part, is she never got the see my daughter's face once she was admitted in the hospital. I will regret that my whole life. She had devoted the last years of her life to my daughter. I consider myself lucky that amma was there was with us in the end.
She has left a void that is hard to fill. She has left memories which are hard to forget. Will my daughter remember her grandmother (Aaya as she called her) when she grows up? She won't. Will we be able to find someone who will take care of her as lovingly, as caringly as amma. We may not. But will she always be missed? Yes.
Amma passed away on January 12th this year. We never really shared the perfect saas-bahu relationship. Infact I hardly had the occasion to interact in length with her, in the first 3 years of my marriage. That was because, our's being a love marriage, the two of us chose to live separate, away from the rest of the family. This meant that whatever little time we spent together was on the weekly visits my husband and I made to her house. Even in that it was a sparse conversation. She would mumble a few words in Tamil and I would mumble back in Kannada. This wasn't because we were not fond of each other. We hardly knew each other to form an opinion. For me it was the hesitation of not being the bahu she chose coupled with the fact that I felt like an outsider, an intruder in that big family. For her it was the fact that her son had married a girl who was well educated (unlike her or her other bahus) and who was used to a very different lifestyle (which she probably felt she was incapable of providing herself). In a way she was scared to talk to me in the fear of speaking something wrong!
It was only when I was pregnant and due to deliver that we had to ask her to come and live with us. We had decided that I would not go to my mom's place for the delivery. This meant that an experienced person was required to stay with me during those crucial months when the baby was born. Both of us were hesitant to ask her. We had never really asked her to stay over even for a night at our house, before. Would this make us look very 'matlabi'? But we did ask her and she readily agreed. It was a huge relief for us and my parents who were feeling terrible about not being there for their daughter at this time. A week before I was due, she moved in with us.
With this our whole world changed. Both of us had been used to just being the only people around at home. Even small things like control over the TV remote, our favorite spot on the sofa, the kind of food we prepared, all changed. The initial days together were not without a few hiccups. We are all unsure about what the other expected from us. Would it be wrong to have lunch before the other person ( we all ate at different times), would it be wrong to say I didn't like a particular food she had prepared, would it be wrong to shut the door of your room when you needed some privacy etc etc. But we did quiet well I must say. We got along fine and each of us made our own little adjustments to fit in. So I started reading more books and newspapers so that she could watch her favorite soaps on Sun TV. My husband started bringing fruits and bhel puri and other things home, in the evenings, so that we could enjoy our evening family times together. Amma started instructing the cook to prepare those
vegetables which I liked and avoided those that I hated.
What I admired most about her was her enthusiasm and zeal for life. A new chocolate or a new saree delighted her like it would a small girl. She would never shrug away from responsibility. When I decided to go back to work early after exhausting my Maternity Leave, due to certain unavoidable reasons, she readily volunteered to take care of my daughter all by herself. My baby was only 4 months then! We felt that we were burdening her at that age (she was 76) but she felt otherwise. This was the baby of her favorite son. She was only too happy. Time passed and soon it was 2 years since she had moved in with us. The occasional clashes, arguments, upsets did take place. Everything cant be perfect all the time, right? But they just came and went. We would move on like nothing had ever happened. I could often get a sense that amma preferred our house now to the houses of her other children. This made me feel happy. Somewhere I felt obliged to her for all that she was doing, for me, for my daughter and for us. But the sad part was that behind her energetic, ever ready, strong self we failed to spot an ageing woman. One who ought to be relaxing and spending her time getting other people to do things for her and not one who in fact was exhausting herself taking care of a hyper active 2 year old, apart from running the house in the absence of a daughter-in-law trying to do justice to her job!
The greatest thing about Amma was that she did her duty till the end. Even on the day she was admitted to the hospital (which would eventually lead to her demise) she picked my daughter back from playschool and fed her and put her to sleep. In the evening when she felt that all was not well with her, she caught an auto and got to her daughter's house. She handed my daughter over to my co-sisters for care taking and then got herself admitted in the hospital. I couldn't help but notice that even in that time she hadn't forgotten to carry extra clothes for my daughter, should she require a change! The sad part, is she never got the see my daughter's face once she was admitted in the hospital. I will regret that my whole life. She had devoted the last years of her life to my daughter. I consider myself lucky that amma was there was with us in the end.
She has left a void that is hard to fill. She has left memories which are hard to forget. Will my daughter remember her grandmother (Aaya as she called her) when she grows up? She won't. Will we be able to find someone who will take care of her as lovingly, as caringly as amma. We may not. But will she always be missed? Yes.
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