With Affection and Respect (To Mother)

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

The Three Debts - I

In the traditional context, there are only three main obligations for any individual. These are: 1) Debt to the compassionate Devas, 2) Debt to the Rishis, and 3) Debt to the forefathers. The first debt can be discharged with sincere bhakti. If we study and assimilate (i.e., put into practice) the ancient epics, Vedas, puranas, and other books (ex: Bhagavad-Gita, Ramayana, etc.) we will be able to pay our gratitude to the rishis.

 

Coming to the debt of our parents and forefathers, how to discharge it? The foremost thing we can do is to honor their dharmic wishes and keep their dignity intact, besides continuing the lineage. As the Bhishma-ekadasi is approaching, I would like to remember my parents and offer my respects with humility. As far as I am concerned I consider my great grandparents, grandparents, and my own parents as superior to me in all respects; with the constraints they faced in life they achieved much more and they all discharged their obligations to the fullest. They all deserve a huge mound (a quintal!) of gratitude – just for passing on extraordinary ‘genes’, intelligence, and an excellent culture. Leave aside the topic of inheritance (property, money, etc.) for a second. Perhaps I can remember them by recalling my time with them. Their way of teaching good habits, discipline, and faith was just through example.

 

During our school final exams (the Board exams), we had to take the tests for six subjects – three languages, science, math, and social studies, each test spanning three hours. They were all compressed into three or four consecutive days. Father was very much worried about my test preparation, health, and sleep habits. Often I used to become lethargic after lunch (rice and the tropical climate being co-conspirators!) and I dozed off during a few classes in the afternoon. We were all herded off to a large high school for the final exams. All the halls, classrooms, and even staff rooms were filled with perspiring students holding pens, pencils, and IDs (Hall Tickets). The total pupil size reached more than two thousand. Father got a break from his routine job and reached the front gate with a large packet of idlis and buttermilk anxiously waiting in the hot sun. Of course nanna could’ve brought a tasty lunch with rice but he wanted me to stay alert for the afternoon test paper. My weaknesses are curd rice and sambar rice. I could not have asked (rather dreamt) for a better loving and sacrificing father.

 

Back then, there were no annual visits to doctor (GP) or regular physical exam. People went to doctor when they had a problem. Before our board final exams (eleventh grade), all the students went to the government hospital for a physical checkup. Just routine things like height, weight, lungs, and heart were tested. The local chief physician, Dr. C. Reddy did a quick checkup of our heartbeat, lungs, and vision. Usually any incidence of TB or chronic anemia, or hearing impairment or such abnormality was noted and a note was sent to our parents. But my father was very particular about children’s health. Whenever sister visited us for delivery, father would take her to a qualified specialist for full checkup. After tenth grade my health improved remarkably; except for a rare flue or fever I hardly needed any physical checkup. But father was always worried about my general health. For many years he would try to arrange for an annual doctor’s visit. He wanted me to be free of the debilitating tropical diseases like TB, malaria, and other vector borne crippling illnesses. He arranged for a vision test with our government hospital lady ophthalmologist, an M.D. doctor. Such matters may look mundane or rudimentary in this age – but we must go back into the past, several decades in India. For most of his life father had only one pair of reading glasses. Now, here I may have at least five pairs and two sunglasses – for redundancy and convenience.

 

Such was his frugality and care in handling finances in life. For his own general health he utilized all the best in herbal, Ayurvedic, and other alternate therapies. He knew (rather learnt) everything about proper digestion (buttermilk, fiber like Psyllium) and healthy food habits. In later years, he reduced evening meals and slowly shifted to idli, dosa, or other light snacks. Though he rode bicycles in younger days, he had to rely solely on walking for most errands in later life. And that was not easy on him in the tropical sun. Sometimes I helped him with shopping and medicines. But when I left for college, he had no handy help. Yet due to his enormous goodwill, he could always find a helping neighbor or clerk in a store across the street. Now looking back I feel happy about one small thing – both my parents experienced rides in automobiles. They arranged for a car during my sister’s wedding for trips between the temple and guesthouse. Later father came to see me in college, about sixty miles from our native place. He had to attend to some work for his boss in the port city and suddenly he appeared at our hostel in a neat Ambassador car. Had they lived longer probably they would have experienced jet travel too.

 

As I recall now sweetly, I realize one distressing fact: My parents were not born poor. My grandparents on each side had decent occupations with sizeable farm acreage. Due to misfortune and sickness, they fell on hard times. My sister and I did not witness much of father’s earlier life – the joyful prosperous years. I was too young, barely two years old when he had to abandon his thriving watch repair business. Then he was fixing, reselling watches, timepieces, and wall clocks. Once at home once we were curiously looking at old parts for Favre-Leuba and other Swiss watches.  At one time he had a roaring business of odd mixes: Watch repair, movie slide making, and photography. For many years we had a large teak chest with a big padlock. It contained many things – from father’s old dresses, his tools, old movie slides, and paintbrushes. There I could see his small signature in many slides, neatly painted in the corner. I could never fathom his dreams and freelance enterprising spirits. An unfortunate bone fracture changed my parents’ plans and finances. Modern medicine was just coming up in India then. X-ray machines were very rare and only rich people could afford multiple X-ray scans for bone fractures. On top of that father had a compound (double bone) fracture in his hand (run over by an ox) and then the doctor misaligned the bone while putting the cast. The entire thing dragged on for months and father’s repair business too got destroyed. He had a full understanding of the wall clocks and often he used to ask me to align the grandfather pendulum clock. The wall clock used to get a little tilted away from the true vertical over time. Now I think it could be due to the local heavy traffic from the main road. I would gently get on a bamboo ladder and adjust the clock periodically. That would fix the pendulum time period and the hours would chime correctly – keep the clock in synchrony with the AIR radio time signals.

 

Two other small tasks come to my mind now. Once father ran out of his regular Ayurvedic medicine for digestion. All the drug stores in our town were out of it for some reason. The local druggist located the medicine in a nearby town, about ten miles away. I was holidaying at home taking a break from college studies. Without a thought I took the short bus ride to Maruteru and procured the medicine. On the way I browsed through some chapters in our physics textbook during the bus trip. It was a pleasant ride and I passed the time looking at the luscious green rice farms on one side. A deep multipurpose canal provided the nourishment for the paddy farms and coconut trees; in those days you can see the lazy Godavari waters slowly feeding the rice bowl of India, one farm for a fortnight and one tree a season. Often I would watch the slowly moving sailboats maneuvering the locks and the gradients in water level.

 

Probably I was in the final year in high school. School would start at 9:00 a.m. and finish around 5:00 p.m. with an hour-long lunch break. Some times father used to ask me to go to the Ramalingeswara Temple and offer puja for the monthly Siva-ratri on empty stomach (before breakfast). I had to bring some flowers and a coconut and sit with the priest for half an hour. I was not yet twice born (i.e., no sacred thread) then but I would recite all the Sanskrit chants with the priest. Such was my ignorance (vanity) – I used to think I was merely representing my father for the auspicious function. Father was very forgiving of my faults, imperfections, and impertinent behavior. Though he had only minimum formal education, a middle school vernacular at best, he was far ahead of his peers. He encouraged me to go weekly to the Siva temple on Saturdays. Father’s desire was very simple and selfless: “Let my son discover faith on his own terms. But he must enter the portals of Siva at least during the monthly Siva-ratri (the lunar thirteenth). Even with abundance of doubt he should go to the temple. Perhaps Siva will open his heart to bhakti and virtue.” In deed, father saved me. His affection and blessings showered on us all the riches, happiness, and education in the world.

 

Once I experienced a major personal crisis during graduate studies. Precious six months of fellowship were lost due to lack of equipment, hostel accommodation, and a sympathetic advisor. Another six months were sacrificed at the altar of a dead end political disturbance and student strike. Cumulatively it had put me one year behind my cohorts elsewhere. There was nothing in my control; I had to move to a different institution to complete my thesis work. Obviously it was hard on my father and I could not ease his pain. Looking back I should have spent more time with father on the coast and delayed my move to the distant northern capital. But the fellowship people (the granting agency) and the department head were not helpful. It appeared everybody was against my prospects and me – except my cousin (scientist brother). Eventually father understood my predicament and approved my difficult decision. This poignant incident happened while going to the railway station. We were in a rickshaw on the downhill roads in the port city. “Can’t you stay back here and complete your thesis?” “No father, things are not progressing here.” I could see his sadness and tears; he was so distraught that I would be moving thousand miles away for a terminal degree. With maturity and experience we realize the stark truth: “Some things in life are not in our hand.”

 

There were many happy moments with our father. He took us to holy places like Annavaram, Tirupati, Simhachalam, and Sri Kalahasti. Though he earned the unjust epithet of ‘hot tempered’, often he was very generous and kind towards to the less fortunate. In retrospective I can empathize and fully comprehend his bursts of anger. His quick temper is just like the fire of ‘Palmyra leaves’; it would quickly die down. In later life he became very gentle and affectionate towards me. Many times he would introduce me to his friends and proudly proclaim my academic successes and achievements. Our neighbors were always envious of my progress despite our limited means. They would often goad my father thus: “Why do you have to worry in life? With such a gifted son, what more do you need in life?”