My Mother's Days

This is the first Mothers' Day that I have not had either one of my daughters with me. Last year I was in Melbourne and I remember how R made me scrambled eggs for breakfast :) Well, this year, both J and R are away so it didn't feel much like Mothers' Day.

However, today I thought about my own mother a great deal. I confess I have not really thought much about her. Somehow, my dad figured more in my childhood memories than my mum did. And my memory of her has always been that she had an air of resignation and sadness around her. It is strange how I seem to have picked up a number of vibes, whether these were justified or not I don't know. I suppose the inner life of our parents will always be hidden from us. But I felt she was somehow unhappy with what life had dealt her, that my dad could never do enough to please her. I felt that she always wanted me to take her side and I didn't understand what it was that I could do to please her. When I grew older I also felt like a pawn sometimes - especially if I was allowed to go out with my sisters - because when I came back she would ask me to repeat conversations to her. Which I did. And which did not endear me to my sisters. So they would accuse me of snitching on them and I remember not knowing what it was that I was supposed to do - tell and incur my sisters' wrath or not tell and endure my mum's silent anger.

But she was my mother and I loved her. I knew that she loved me in some fashion, shown mostly by letting me sleep with her, by excessive feeding and protection from my sisters and my dad especially when the report cards were not good! That she loved me I have no doubt. But she did not always have time for me.

This morning, I was in KL and my 2 sisters got talking about our relatives in India and the conversation got round to my mother. And somehow, this morning, my mother began to come to life for me as a real person. I heard how her mother (my grandmother) died giving birth to her. So my mother grew up motherless, brought up by her eldest step-brother and his wife. My sister told a story that brought a lump to my throat - how my mum's sister-in-law once gave all the children in the household a cup of milk before bedtime but did not give my mother any. She cried and ran downstairs to her brother who then took her on to his lap and made his wife give her some milk too. And I thought of that little child, being shut out of family life, overlooked among other children and felt sadness. Then I heard that my mother was brought to Malaya to marry my father when she was 14. She had her first child, my sister Rajam, before she turned 15. Then came 8 other children.

What would she have known about raising children when she was a child herself? What would she have known about being a mother when she had not been mothered? And then 25 years of child-bearing! Her first child born in 1931 and her last one (me) born in 1957! No wonder she was tired! I can still see her in my mind's eye now, lying down on the easy chair in the hall with her eyes closed. I used to wish she would get up and talk or do something. But now I think, would I have had the energy if it were me? What did she feel, coming to a strange country at 14 to marry a 23-year old man she had not met? Who helped her - to learn to cook? look after her child? What did she dream of and did any of her dreams come true? What happened that made her suspicious of almost everyone? Did she feel loved?

I wish, now, I had spent more time with my mum.