Mothers On The Mom

It’s Friday so breakfast is with mom, over telephone of course.

My mom is commenting on the new advertisement of some refrigerator, the tag line is,”maa hoon” this has made her angry.

Amma’s stand is very clear, she says the advertisements work on  subconscious, kitchen mom is incharge, so much so women have become territorial about it.

“they are showing an empowered woman” I said,

“The mother is no different from the Nirupa Roy .. control freak kinds.” According to her, we are still on momma knows best, mama of course does not order anymore, she is more manipulative and quite much more smug. Know something I hate to admit this, but she does have a point.

In a way yes, yet…here I am enroute to 91 springboard and right ahead of me is a mother-on- the move, or as my daughter’s friends used to call me another,”Rani of Jhansi.” She was ridding this TVS- streak, kiddo one standing in front of her, kiddo two in the infant pouch strapped on to her, and a backpack on her back. The contemporary mom, she is really no different from me.

I had to give up my Hero-Honda for a Kinetic Honda, it was kiddo one in front, kiddo two in the pillion the school bags, the rote was drop the older one, feed the younger one breakfast at the older one’s school, drop the younger one to school three hours later, pick the younger one, feed at the older one’s school, then pick the older one the circus was crazy, the national highway at Goa on a long weekend, meant drunken  uncouth domestic tourists. Well the young mother in front of dealing with something very similar.

My mother tells me, mothers from my generation were no better than mothers of her generation, she would carry kid number one, and make the older kid walk to the bus station. The same challenges of lunch-box making, and uneaten lunch-boxes in the evening because it is some friend’s birthday, and her mom, would have sent a special lunch.

My grandmother calls it mother’s on the move. It is always mothers on the move, be it me giving up my workshop and seminar’s to escort my daughters for their exams and counselling. Or my mother stepping in to care for my daughters when I was recuperating from sickness. It’s a mother who steps in.

Long ago in the late seventies or early eighties, my grandmother had to cut short her US trip as my mother fell ill. She was at Frankfurt waiting for the connecting flight she got talking to two other woman, one was an American who was travelling to Turkey as her daughter was deputed out, and the granddaughter needed care, the other was Turkish mother travelling to the US as her daughter was due for delivery of her second kid and there was nobody to take care of the older one.

We can talk about equal parenting, whatever but at the end of the day it is the mother at home roots an individual, I can rebel, complain, protest or even claim to hate my mother, the reality that I have accepted over the 52yrs of my life is that the fact that she is there keeps me sane and safe. Interestingly the oldest matriarch matrilineal is the anchor that roots the family.

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