How do you describe a force of nature? You don’t—you just try to keep up with it.
On February 14th, 2025, my mom passed away. It’s a date usually reserved for love, which is fitting, I suppose, because her entire existence was a fierce, focused, and sometimes exhausting (for herself before any of us) act of love for her family.
She was dealt a difficult hand early on—losing her own mother when she was barely two, raised by her sister and father, and then married off at eighteen. She moved from a small town to a bustling city, landing right into the middle of a massive joint family. She had a middle school education and a determination that didn't require a dictionary. She didn’t know English, but she managed to blend in with the new family, making friends of her own age-group sister-in-law and helping her mother-in-law to run that large household.
I have this vivid memory from when I was in second grade. I had an English lesson to learn, and Mom—bless her, and bless her understanding of English --- didn't quite grasp the nuance of "studying." To her, "learning" meant absolute mastery. She made me memorize the entire lesson, word for word, cover to cover, just so I could recite it back to her. She couldn’t read the words, but she could hear the effort. All these were just blip in her life-long fight with English in trying to prove her mastery over him! She made it a point to read the English newspaper every day and sometimes loudly for all our entertainment. One time, as she was reading she proclaimed loudly - "Thank God" ; we asked what was going on - with smile on her face she said, "we all can be safe", because the the newsitem was "Dacoits Strike in Bangalore"; she proclaimed all the dacoits were going on strike and hence we are all safe.
She was the backend engine of our lives. While my dad was a spendthrift, she was the silent CFO, stretching every rupee. She worked hard through the day (with a few complaints), only to have a litany of aches, pains and tons of complaints once night fell—a routine that became a bit of a running joke in our family. But new dawn, new day, same old Amma !
And then there was the singing. She loved it. Every Golu, she would sit there and launch into "Vataapi Ganapathim" with everything she had. My sister and I would sit behind her and making fun of her, slapping our thighs in a mock-beat, but she never let our teasing dampen her spirit.
What I find most remarkable, looking back, was her lack of dogma, biases or preconceived notions. For someone from her background, she was incredibly forward-thinking. She didn't just accept my wife; she championed her. If there was ever a disagreement between my wife and I, she’d side with her daughter-in-law over me without missing a beat! She was the fiercest supporter of her grandson, with a deep faith that his life will be good; she did what she could (fasting, temple visits) towards that. Ditto with her three dear grand-daughters.
She was also a woman of certain... "unshakeable" convictions - mostly arising out of her own assumptions. In her later years, she developed a great penchant for saying things that were absolutely, demonstrably incorrect. My dad would get into these long, winding arguments with her, eventually proving her wrong with logic and facts. But Mom always had the final word. She’d wait for the dust to settle, look at him, and say with total confidence, "That’s exactly what I said!" and turn around walk-away triumphantly, frustrating my dad even further.
And she was tough. She possessed a dichotmous heart --- when it mattered most. In the span of just four months, she lost both her partner and her daughter. Most people would have crumbled, but she was a rock. She had this incredible ability to compartmentalize her deep love for my sister and at the same time wanted her to go sooner, simply because she couldn't bear to see her daughter suffer. She chose my sister's peace over her own grief.
After my dad and sister passed, I moved her into a senior assisted living facility. Initially, she was worried, but she took to it like a duck to water. For the first time, the "weight of the family" wasn't resting solely on her shoulders. She made wonderful friends, and it was so endearing to see her finally living for herself and holding her friends hand. She even reconnected with her music, singing prayers every Friday. She had made friends with all the people that worked there, but at the same time made their lives tough with her demanding perfection!
She remained a "backend engine" until the very end. Even when she was hospitalized, just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she gave us one last glimpse of her focus --- her final act of consciousness wasn't for herself; it was for her grandson. She lifted her hand, held my son’s, and gave a firm shake of her head to acknowledge something that he said to her. Even then, she was making sure he was heard.
There’s this weird, beautiful coincidence— minutes after she passed, my son finally cleared a long waiting list for independent housing. I’m convinced that the second she arrived "up there," she didn't stop for her sin - another cup of coffee. She probably marched straight up to the gods, gave them a piece of her mind, and said, "What the heck are you doing? Get this done for my grandson!"
It’s strange—I miss her deeply, but unlike the heavy sorrow I felt with my dad or my sister, every time I talk about Mom with my wife, we end up laughing. Her mom'isms, her assumptions and her quirks were just part of our lives. Amma, I probably didn’t tell you enough while you were here. I spent so much time stressed out about your health and well-being that I forgot to just say "thank you" and not enough "love you!" But I think you know.
Goodbye, Amma. I hope you’re lead-singing "Vataapi" somewhere right now, and if the gods try to correct your lyrics, I’m sure you’re telling them: "That’s exactly what I said!"
Good bye! Love you, miss you!
