When you ask a mother of 23yrs, to share memories, you are creating Frankenstein monster. These moments are there, they are the ones that root me to the earth. When I am down and lonely they are all there to nourish me back. When it comes to my daughters there are very few bad moments, there are of course few moments of anxiousness, even when I think of my daughters all that brings is a wonderful smile and a great sense of joy.
Somewhere I thank the dude upstairs for giving me opportunity of nurturing these lovely human beings. I remember my older daughters first attempt at conversation, she would utter absolutely gibberish sounding phonetics and when we asked her to repeat it, she would repeat the same phonetics and the third time she would repeat it with irritation reflecting in her voice. I had promised myself that I shall do my best to keep her 1000 watts smile intact there were times that I have not kept the promise I made to myself. But always remind myself.
One most amusing memory of her, was she was a very knowledgeable 5yr.old when I was at Dharwad recuperating from an accident early morning at 6.30 her hair, (it is absolutely straight so it does not get tussled) a little out of the coconut tree on her head, she got out of bed and ran to her grandmother.
My mother-in-law as usual asked,”tula kai kayecha” that is what would you like to eat. And madam promptly replies carrot halva. My mother-in-law was a bit taken aback since this kid didn’t normally like sweets. And carrot halva for breakfast is definitely not an idea that self respecting mothers and grandmothers approve. So she told her, I’ll make it for lunch. My daughter looked at her and told her, but there carrots so make it now.
To get out of a brewing war, MIL told her, “I do not know how to make it, let kaku come, I’ll ask her and then make it”
“I know I’ll tell you” came the prompt reply.
“okay tell me,” challenged MIL
Here is the recipe as instructed by my 5yr. Old,”
Carrot gayecha, ie take the carrot,
mag, ashi ashi karaicha” she didn’t know the word for scrapping the carrot all she could do was to demonstrate with action, she then tells,
”ashi ashi kapaicha” again she was not sure about how to tell her to grate, so got the grater and demonstrates, she didn’t know that grating and cutting were different verbs, kapaicha is to cut in Marathi.
atta, baanali ge baanali is wok in Kannada, tyachat thup gaal, i.e. take a wok and pour some ghee into it, atta kaju, kismish gaal— i.e. add raisins and cashew,
Dhood gaal, sakkar gaal, ani carrot gaal — that translates to add milk, sugar and carrot
Atta ashi ashi kar,– this was again demonstration with the wooden spatula in her hand she pretend to stir the mixture.
Her tone was now as if she came to the end of a long satisfying journey… atha benki gaal, now benki is fire in Kannada, it was as if saying okay everything ie fine, now you can light the stove.
My MIL said after this she just had to make carrot halva and at 9 am in the morning the family actually ate carrot halva, with our wise 5yr old, beaming at MIL.
With my younger daughter she was very clear; she was a molecule that included her and her mother. Everyone else was outside this, of course she was little confused where my mother and older daughter figured by the time she was 6months old, her world was she and mom, kaka that is older sister and ammamma that is maternal grandmother. She quite much operates on the same lines to the day. Of course papa has finally found his place.
All through her growing years, she never played house, her game was always that she was a gynaecologist, she would make calls to the hospital instruct Prema (incidentally is my aunts receptionist) to set the theatre for sisserian (caesarean) and prescribe medication. She would have to go for rounds. Post lunch she sit on me, and use a toy mike to narrate everything that happened at school, and when she was done she would wind up, “This is me reporting NDTV 24×7, see you same time, same channel tomorrow.” It was quite hilarious. The way she would mimic the reports, Barkha Dutt in particular.
There are so many more, I guess, each mother has their own cache of memories.