My second post for Parentous:
Close friends have often noted that when talking of my parents, I reference the mother more than I mention the father. He is always there in the background, but I rarely talk about him. Perhaps, it’s to do with him being the quieter of the two. Or perhaps, I’m a lot more possessive about him. And there is little I want to share of him with the outside world. On the other hand, I can never say enough about the mother.
They complement as well as contradict each other. But they have their parenting jurisdictions in place. The father provides; the mother nurtures. I loved how succinctly Lalita put it in an open letter to her three-year-old, “I know your daddy can lavish you with technology. But I am the only one who can give you time, so, some consideration, please.” (I can see the mother nodding with approval, at this line).
She is the silent sort. Which is perhaps why I keep wanting to talk about her. To share her story with the rest of the world, because she won’t do it herself. Although sometimes, she wonders how I turned into such a chatterbox. I talk. But she lives her words. Stoic and composed.
She knows I disagree with her a lot of what she says or does. And sometimes, she wishes she could save me from myself. But instead of getting worked up about it or feeling insecure about her place in my life, she challenges me to ask/look around for other points of view, all the while secure and reveling in the knowledge that I’ll come back and tell her that she was right. “I know you probably don’t like hearing this from me. But ask your friends’ mothers/colleagues/other people you know. Get a stranger/an outsider’s perspective. Try talking to them if talking to me does not make you feel any better.”… Continue reading
*First published on Parentous.