son

Todays is my mom’s birthday. I have a very weird relationship with mom. For 30 years, I was a good son and practically listened to almost everything and did all the good things that a good son should. I came home on time, took care, ate well and did nice things. After marriage, I tried sorting things and making things work within family fights and disputes but at the end, after Jispa was born we couldn’t take it anymore and we left to stay separate. It’s been an on and off relationship ever since. Every time we get close mom pulls one request or a thing out of the bag and it becomes impossible to be sane about the whole thing. My only solace is that I have chosen to never fight with her on anything, after we left to live separate. This makes sure that no one can accuse me of saying anything to anyone in anger. It would have only made for more bitterness

When my sister decided that for today, she would compile a list of articles from everyone about her, she also asked me to pen something down. This was easier said than done. I had to write something honestly but not let any of the bitterness or “could have been” come through. It had to be truthfully from the heart but not full of emotional crap that set to settle scores or give a point of view. I started to write from my early memories and wrote about how she defined a lot of what I am today. I think in the end, I managed to strike a good balance and write a decent note. My sister was impressed. She wondered how I could write so well and how I could remember all these small details. I told Jasmine – “I wonder how, but my family still thinks that I am some petty little piece of shit.” Probably I will always be the younger kid for them.

But here – below is the write up that gave my sister to be included…

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When you have to write something for you mom, it’s always a difficult and dangerous thing. Difficult because you never know which memory to pick over the other and which one to highlight; and dangerous because – she is your mom – you never win against your mom. It goes like a cheap Hollywood movie – everything you say (or don’t) can and will be used against you in the court of law. And here the law is not blind but all seeing, all knowing and ever present… That’s you Mom.

Normally such write ups start with an early memory. The first time someone set their eyes on someone, or the first time they heard of someone. That is normally the best place to start. But when the person in question is the all-powerful Mother, then how do you start. What was your first moment? Your supposedly super hero origin story itself starts inside of her. This further gets complicated by a simple problem. How do you know which one was the earliest?

Having tabled my difficulties, I guess my most vivid memory and probably earliest memory was the first day I was being sent to Nursery school. I am likely to get a lot of facts wrong but I think that our cousins had come over to stay with us at Dubai and it was my first day at Nursery which I did not want to go. I kept clutching at mom and fighting to go till Dad got into the picture. I don’t remember what convinced me to go but I guess (and I am told) that Dad had to give me a rap, after which I duly complied. That’s as good a first story as it gets.

Now let’s get to another story – this one is especially special! This defined what I did for the rest of my life. Once I clearly remember as a very small kid, I was sleeping next to mom. I turned and put my right arm on her and my right leg on her. And I slept. Slept well. That one moment defined how I slept ever since. I can get sleep only by sleeping on my tummy with my right leg folded and my right arm folded under the pillow as if I am still hugging mom. So every time in at night when I sleep, I sleep with my mom next to me. I have tried some times to sleep on my back or in any other position but I have failed. I can only sleep with my mom next to me on the right.

Here are a few other memories while growing up. Here are a few other memories:

Somit slapping me and triggering an acute pain in the ear, thanks to an infection and me running to mom. Yah, thanks Somit for being there!

Me wanting to sleep every night after drinking milk which mom made from milk powder for me.

Ah this other one is also special for me in a weird way – Her bangles. She has these gold bangles with angular ridges. She has been wearing these for so many years now. I hate to see them pushed up on her hand and sitting tight on the arm. Always I have just nudged them loose as they fall by the wrist and dangle and make a soft mellow clanging sound, that only golden bangles can. I can never see any bangles high up on the arm. I have to push them down to the wrist. I remember her wrist, the small dots (freckles kind of) on the back of her hands and her veins. Her hands are similar to that of her mom. I loved playing with them and from there on I loved playing with my veins on the back of my hands.

As a young boy growing up, you have a connection with your mom but your hero growing up is your dad. It’s always a mixed feeling. You love mom more but as you sprout your moustache and manhood hits, the lessons of daddyhood hit you and that’s your role in society that you emulate. But small things that mom tells you remain. For now, how you organize your kitchen. I still like my kitchen the way mom kept it.

One another thing that mom taught me about relationships is that she used to always say, dad never asked her about money and never ever questioned her spending. That is one lesson about being a husband that I learnt from mom. I have followed in your advice mom, which was never explicitly said but still I learnt it from you. Never question your wife on the expenses. If she is in a good mood, you will get a detailed expense list and if she is in a bad mood, you will get … err… let’s not get there.

These are specific memories that I have that have helped me grow up. There are a million more. I have a lot of scars from the wounds I have got and almost in every one of them I remember thinking of mom, rather than dad. That is in spite of the fact that it was dad doing all the hard work and the dressing. But it was still mom who I sought comfort in. I remember the smell, the shoulder, the stomach and the hands like crazy.

So yes, mom in many ways has helped me grow. But at a more philosophical level, sometimes an important aspect of a family that really permeates through is how she held the family together at dinner. Dinner was always together and on the dining table and without the TV on. She insisted on this, with only cricket matches being exceptions. National pride before family, I guess. Dinner table was especially important for sharing notes, talking and humor.  Mom encouraged that, allowed that and was a butt of many jokes. Even today the Parekh khandaan saga will have me in splits. Mom was sporting enough to laugh at it and to take it all in good jest. That family togetherness, humor, teasing and bonding is something that was sacrosanct on the Doshi dinner table. That brought the family together, allowed for change, improvement, and some amazing memories. All that I learnt by being the youngest and the benefit of everyone’s expense was on the dinner table. While mom was possibly the most silent on these occasions, I would give almost all the credit for tying it together to her. This more than anything defined us and will define our families and then their generations for years to come. Jispa, Angel and the two Kamdar brothers should know this for sure. This is where their dinner table finger pointing and laughter comes from. So, dear Arjun, when Amisha calls you for dinner, don’t moan and act all pricey. Blame Naani but at the same time quietly thank her. For one day, you will be a man one day thanks to this.