With Affection and Respect (To Mother)
मात्रु देवो भव (तैत्तरीय उपनिषद) How do we remember the bygones? With time we lose precious siblings, relatives, and close companions; thus we are deprived of a veritable source of fact checking. Whatever we remember is at the mercy of time and the fallible human brain cells (see Daniel L Schacter); the lucky few with extraordinary memory traits can still weave a reliable painted cloth of the yesteryears. Still we must feel privileged and fortunate to hold a bouquet of colorful blooms - of pleasant memories associated with our parents. Adi Sankara had extraordinary memory according to his disciples’ notes; in college we came to know about Lord Macaulay’s photographic memory feats of recalling long passages.
In the village we needed to buy only a few items for the daily meals. Our kitchen garden was a rich provider of many vegetables: snake gourd, coconut, amaranthus, gongura, banana, white pumpkin, beans, bitter gourd, and others. In the cold winter months (November through January) we used to get bumper crops of beans on the vine. Mother had a miraculous green thumb. Whatever she touched it would flower profusely and yield basketfuls of vegetables or fruits. Sometimes we would experience heavy infestation with pests on the beans (Lablab, Val papdi, చిక్కుడు). Mother did not want any pesticide spray on the vegetable crops; often she would ask me just to write our gotra(m) (గోత్రము) name and hang it on the creeper to ward off the bugs. Come to think of it, I could’ve sprayed forceful water and washed off the pests at the earliest appearance – but there was no running (piped) water or spray bottle in the village then!
With severe budget constraints mother would prepare a variety of dishes (curries) with the homegrown beans. In one sense she was absolutely an expert in providing a nourishing protein rich food for her growing children. But I was barely in the teens and had the usual moodiness of a naughty child. Often I would come home for lunch with voracious appetite after brain straining morning classes (Telugu, English, Math, Sciences). Inevitably I used to fight with mom for a different course of lunch – may be brinjal, potato, or some other vegetable anything other than the ubiquitous organic homegrown “bean”. Her cooking was superb; she tried several variations with the beans with spices, tamarind, or jaggery. Then in the middle school I could not fathom the depth of our financial troubles. Somehow father was able to arrange for rice and those were the pre-ration card days in the village. Luckily our parents never had to seek ration from the state despite enormous insurmountable difficulties. In such difficult afternoons mother would cuddle me in her lap and gently caress my face with her rough hands while adjusting my curly hair. That sweet gesture would communicate her profound affection; soon I would forget about the whole issue, quickly gobble a few bytes, and get ready for the afternoon classes in a jiffy.
Mother often had to bear the brunt of her children’s sicknesses. She nursed our dear sister through a double dose of typhoid infection. Those were the days of severe antibiotics shortages and exorbitant drug prices in India; it was the pre-liberation time and the (modern) pharmaceutical industry was still nascent. Now the country can produce large doses of antibiotics, cardiac drugs, and a host of vaccines including Covid.
Some of my best and pleasant times with mother: The weekly oil massages and shampoo baths with ritha (soapnut seed, కుంకుడు కాయలు). During those precious moments she would tell the stories of Harischandra, Savitri, Dhruva, and others. Without explicitly telling me about ethics she transferred the essentials of a “dharmic living” in this complex mundane world. That teaching was enough for me for a whole lifetime; I rarely needed the self-study of Hindu scriptures, as they were part of our Telugu curriculum in high school and college.
Adi Sankara summed up aptly the essence of motherhood, be it the divine or the earthly manifestation thus: There is only an occasional bad son but no bad mother in the entire universe. I feel the same when dwelling upon our mother’s qualities. Never did she ever reproach me even when I accidentally spilled cooking oil or broke the glass thermometer. I do not know whether I accomplished all of her aspirations; that is between her insight and my own conscience. But she would have been in the seventh heaven upon knowing about my advanced studies, international travels, and other modest achievements. She was so joyful when I got a modest torchlight as a present for excelling in eighth grade exams. I certainly missed her when I received a silver cup in high school or when I aced in College with first rank.
As I wistfully reminisce now I realize - I’ve been careless in not preserving her music books and rare silken clothes (Benarasi sari, woolen blouse, etc.). But, being a loyal son I did learn Carnatic music assiduously and practice some of her favorite songs and kirtanas. We daily use and preserve her cooking utensils with love – often they remind us about her extraordinary culinary skills. Her ingenuity in creating delicious tasty dishes (tamarind rice, coconut-dal, gongura chutney) from scratch still makes me salivate.
To me our mother is like a gandharva maiden who came down to the earth to teach us what is real music, tasty cooking, gardening, and other fine arts. She achieved all she had aspired despite challenging circumstances. In the most elemental sense what can a son or daughter really pay a mother? Except heartfelt gratitude and simple honest living according to her noble ideals. A mother simply gives abundantly to her children without asking – that she always did, readily with a sweet smile. I conclude with these simple incidents: often we would spontaneously cry in the movie theater watching emotional scenes in Satya Harischandra. Such tender moments taught me about art; much more than a whole year of Shakespeare plays in College. Often she used to see me off on the roadside for success in exams; that was a gesture of good omen, it always filled me with confidence before the annual exams (board). We never lose loving parents; they always reside in the deep recesses of our tender hearts. I feel privileged to be her son and I try to endeavor to earn her blessings every day and receive her “biksha”. Here in US Mother's Day falls on May 10th. Copyright 2026 by the author
