Mother's Mother's Day

This blog is about family, food and memories. Many of mine were created by my wonderful mother and grandmothers. So when I read the beautiful letter my 65 year old mother, Meera, wrote this year to her 92 year old mother for Mother's Day, I thought she should really be read by more people than just her children.

So I am honored to introduce my mother, Meera Marathe as my guest blogger today. She and her siblings called my grandmother Vahini, which means sister-in-law, because that is how they heard their young aunts and uncles refer to her since my grandfather was 'Anna' (pronounced Uhn-na) or "older brother" to them.

To me, she was Vahini Aji (Sister-in-law Grandma)! Her name is Surekha Sirsikar and not only was she was an amazing woman and mother but the best, most energetic, fun, loving grandmother anyone could dream of. Climbing guava trees to pick the best fruit for us, cooking fudge and all sorts of other treats that we could eat any time we liked, playing cards with us on hot summer afternoons, happily telling us stories no matter how often we asked for them, and never, EVER speaking a cross word. But enough, I will let my mother share her mother now.

Vahini,

Mother’s day may be an excuse to send good wishes to one’s mother once a year. But I think of you many times a day every day. There are so many things that you did for me and taught me that I can’t imagine what life would have been without them.

Forgiveness and unconditional support and self-discipline are the first things that come to mind, Vahini, when I think of you. Every time I made a mistake I was forgiven and then told where I was wrong. If I lost anything or broke anything, was not nice to someone or did wrong I was never spanked or yelled at. It is so important for a child to feel secure in his parents. I always felt that with you and Anna I had the most wonderful childhood. Naturally therefore I too try to forgive and support my children.

You taught us to appreciate good food. You cooked it for us under the most difficult and even peculiar circumstances. Patiently, you made the dishes each one of us liked. We all wanted different things for breakfast or dinner and for each of us you thoughtfully made them,even as you insisted that we taste everything that had been cooked.We had to finish what was served to us. We could take more of whatever we wanted. Even as you cooked things we were allowed to taste the goodies and not forbidden to do so as in many other homes.There were always snacks and different types of food at home so we were able to have a variety and not get bored with the same stuff daily. We had western food, a variety of regional Indian food, Chinese food and you acquired new recipes all the time. I have learnt to cook seeing you do things, although you never ‘taught’ me anything. I have consciously taught my children to love food and cooking. We all enjoy cooking and food. Thank you. As you know, the influence carries on so that Sameer always cooks the main dishes for parties at his home and Kaumudi has gone farther and become a recognized chef.

Meera, age 9

I remember how you allowed us to have cookouts in the garden or yard with our friends and supervised us. You gave us pots and pans,any ingredients we asked for and other equipment to enjoy ourselves.It was such fun. All our friends and the four of us had fun cooking and eating what we made in the garden. We learnt a great deal from such experiences, but most importantly, we had a very happy time.

Anna & Vahini (seated) seeing off their younger son, Nishu (blue jacket) who was headed to the NDA. Meera & her sister Maya stand behind their parents

You showed us by example how to face hardship and difficult situations. You drove Ramesh to the hospital without crying or panicking when he broke his leg. Each time I was ill you sat by me and massaged my legs or head and comforted me. You fearlessly extracted the big nail that Ramesh accidentally drove into Nishu’s thigh before scolding the culprit. When Maya had diphtheria you stayed by her side throughout in the hospital and helped her recover. When Anna was brought back from NEFA, now Nagaland, with his harrowing experience of being snowbound, and everyone feared that he might even lose a limb or two, you showed uncommon grit and strength. And you supported him and the family despite knowing that this setback spelt the end of his bright career when he was barely 42.

Even the one time you yourself were in hospital with a slipped disc and in great pain and more or less immobilised, it was not your pain that troubled you, but concern for the two of us at home alone. You worried if we would be safe by ourselves. Anna was in NEFA then and ‘the boys’ in the NDA (National Defence Academy). You lived with both us sisters in the separated family quarters in Delhi, managing very well. In this and such ways did you train us to become independent. It stood me in good stead, indeed, with Aditya and all his health problems and all the other times I have had to face any difficulty.

Vahini-Anna (center) with their younger daughter, Maya (far right) and one of their daughters-in-law, Manisha with her child, Neena

You always bought clothes, gifts and necessaries for all of us but I can’t ever think of an occasion when you got a sari or any cosmetics for yourself. Sacrifice and unselfishness were the ideals you taught us simply by example. In your footsteps I have never used any cosmetics except cream for dry skin in winters.

Hospitality and an open house for our friends and relatives is a trait all of us have learnt from you and Anna. He invited the whole world to your table and you fed it. We do the same and so do our children. You always had some young officer or a relative or friend for a meal. You always had extra food and an extra plate at the table. I remember occasions when even after we had cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for bed, guests arrived and whole fresh meals had to be cooked. There were kerosene stoves and woodstoves in those days, not the comfort of gas or electric stoves. Yet you did all that was expected cheerfully and without complaint. We were there sometimes to help you but often than not you did everything on your own.

You taught us to do things well and beautifully. We always had flowers in vases, a nicely arranged drawing room, cushion covers and table cloths you had embroidered, a beautifully laid out dining table with shining silverware and crockery. The food you brought to the table was displayed attractively, whether it was Indian or western food, a sit down dinner or a buffet. And you sang! We were very happy to have a mother who sang beautifully and who was always humming as she worked. Always there when we needed you, never nosy or bossy, you welcomed our friends smilingly even if we were not home.

Our home was home to many officers, too, who were away from their own families, sometimes in bewildered states of mind, sometimes homesick, sometimes in real trouble. They were able to drop in when they felt like a cup of tea or, tired of the Mess ‘mess’, wanted home cooked food.

Nishu, Meera, Maya with their mother

(Alas, I have no young pix of my older uncle, Ramesh to include)

Unlike the women around you, you never went to coffee klatches or gossip or rummy (cards) sessions with other women. You went if help was required or there was any occasion. You never gossiped with anyone or spread any rumours. I don’t go for any women’s dos either. However, I do indulge in gossip for fun and do also criticise people now and then!

You didn’t spend any money on cosmetics or makeup, never went on personal shopping sprees like so many Army wives. Yet you were always the most beautiful and most beautifully turned out woman in the station. I have always seen you well turned out and presentable, never in nightclothes dawdling or lazing about. Up early in the morning, brushed and washed, ready for the day with a smile. And you kept yourself fit. You exercised regularly and I have followed your example to this day.

You were a picture of tolerance and forbearance. Even if you had a headache you bore it quietly and carried on. I have not enjoyed good health like you. I do, however, have a great degree of tolerance and can bear a great deal of pain before complaining. I avoid medication, just like you.

You never went to ‘your’ family for visits like most women do. If you went at all it was with all of us. Your love and care of us mattered more to you than your personal satisfaction of going to see your brothers or mother. I have done the same. If I go we both go together briefly, and earlier we went as a family with the children. Yet you were always there when we needed help.

I never saw you borrowing things from neighbours as they always borrowed from us. You ensured that we had all we needed or went without.

All servants—available to you because Anna was in the Army, but who almost never reduced your work—were paid on the 1^st or 2^nd of the month. You knew that it was difficult for them to manage on their wages and did not wish to add to their woes by delaying paying them. And you never bought things on credit. That is the way to stay within a budget. Attitudes to borrowing have changed in our society over the years, but we follow your rule. We hardly even use the credit card. When we do, we pay the dues the day the demand arrives.

If there were leftovers in the kitchen, you offered the fresh food to us and made sure you ate the leftovers. If a dish fell short, you said that you were full or didn’t like it, really, so that we would get a bigger portion of it. Such was your selfless devotion to your children and husband. Today people may be puzzled by your ways or even frown upon them. Or call them foolish. We only feel immense respect for you because to you your family mattered above everything else. And yet you married ‘for love’, adventurously going away from such home as you had to be with the man you loved. Your personal relationship with Anna and your devotion to him have been another (almost unattainable) ideal for me.

Among all these roles that you played over your long life, the role of Mother is what mattered to us your children most, naturally. And it is that role that the world celebrates on this day each year.

Meera, aged 33, laughs as she serves cake at Kaumudi's 10th birthday party in London, Canada

So, Vahini, I wish you a very happy Mother’s Day. May every day be good for you, too. There was so much to learn from you that even now I may have missed out some things in my list!

I am like you in many ways, although I have a lot of Anna in me also. I love you very much. At your very great age you have the health that you built throughout life. Enjoy your years and smile, smile, smile.

With special love and hugs for this day,

Meeri

09 May 2011

What does it mean to fail?

The piece below was written as the second in the series for my friend's website. Success? came before this one. As a postscript to this second piece, you should know that the friend I mention in it has since acquired a home that she is delighted to call her own. All is well that ends well.

“Remember: happiness is not dependent on who you are or what you have, it depends solely on what you think.”

Gautama Buddha

This week, a friend of mine put in an offer on a house. She has been house hunting for two years and had not seen anything that captivated her. Till now. A small Craftsman cottage called out to her from the moment she laid eyes on it. She sent me pictures, I thought it suited her perfectly.

The size, the style, even the way the current owner had decorated it, appealed to her sensibility. The book on the coffee table was the same one she was reading. And there was the wonderfully private and lush garden where she could plant vegetables and turn cartwheels all day long if she wanted (as she had done recently in her current garden, in an effort to teach my 8 year old how to turn cartwheels!).

When we wished her good luck after she put in her bid, she replied, “Oh, there is no question of luck, I am going to get it. I know it. That house and I are made for each other.”

Two days later she found out that she did not get it. Another buyer had outbid her. She was heartbroken. Had she failed? All she had been saving toward, working for, her dreams about living in a space meant just for her, gone.

What does it mean to fail? Should she have thought that she had failed, as most people would and indeed she did for a few days? Or did the Buddha really have something when he said that happiness depends on what you think? The world is full of wise saws and it is easy to ignore them sometimes as the feeling of failure or defeat overwhelms you.

But, she asked herself, what was different? Her life was still the same, it was just the house that was no longer a part of that picture. Indeed the house had never, until recently, been part of the picture. IF she had never chanced upon it, she would not today be feeling so sad, so cheated, so sadly altered.

And what she realized was that the only thing that had changed from the week before was in her head.

The power to be happy is in our heads. So is the power to be sad. The power to feel successful is there as is the power to feel failure.

So she did not succeed in getting her home. Now it was up to her to decide what to think. As she put it, she could say, “It’s all gone now and will never come back. Life sucks!”

Or she could hold on to hope: "I firmly believe that I will soon be living in a beautiful place of my own. I rejoice in imagining myself in that place, It gives me the greatest pleasure to make plans in my head about all the wonderful things I will do there... I have a beautiful dream and a belief that it is out there for me."

She chose the latter approach. This is gratifying for several reasons. First and foremost, I am glad for my friend that she is finding a positive way to approach her disappointment. Second, I am interested in how we all approach problems, obstacles, and perceived failures. I have tracked my evolution in this regard since I was a child. Crushing disappointment is followed by utter despair. Getting knocked down leads to lying winded on the floor. Being told I am not good at something in school makes me feel small and inconsequential.

Then, funny as it sounds, a best seller (among many other things) helps me change the way I look at failure and disappointment. Reading Gone With the Wind in my early teenage years, I saw Scarlett O’Hara not as an unscrupulous, mercenary go-getter who would not let anyone stand in her way but as a determined woman who would not let life get her down.

I was startled and amazed at her chutzpah throughout the novel but it was definitely the ending that left me breathless with admiration. Her world had ‘ended’ and the last person who loved her had finally abandoned her. Yet she could say (and I am paraphrasing here), “I’ll deal with it tomorrow, tomorrow is another day.”

“Wow!” I thought, “That is some kind of woman. That is some kind of optimism.”

Now I couldn’t be more different from Scarlett O’Hara but I do share her optimism. I have woken up nearly every day of my life feeling that it was a beautiful, new day and that good things were going to happen. Even if I had gone to bed unhappy or troubled, by morning I was ready to tackle life again, hope filling my mind and heart.

For this, I have my mother to thank. She taught me never to go to bed angry, to always fall asleep thankful for my blessings, and to live each day as my last. Subconsciously I had learned Scarlett’s lesson about not letting anything get me down. Consciously I learned from my mother because I saw that she lived her life as she taught me to live it, loving what she did, loving the people around her, generously giving of herself, her time, her cooking, with no expectation of anything in return, a smile always on her lips, no matter what pain was in her heart.

I think that a positive attitude can go a very long way in keeping you healthy and sane. It works for me. What some might term failure, I term a challenge. Yes, of course, I am first disappointed by some downward turn of events: an article not getting picked up by a journal I pitched it to; only three students turning up to a cooking class; my publisher delaying the publication of my book for years.

Naturally there is often frustration and irritation during the process of coming to terms with, and then tackling, those obstacles. But there are opportunities too. I choose to focus on those, the proverbial looking on the bright side of things. I can rework the article and pitch it elsewhere. I get more time with my three students and can do a test run of a new class on the smaller group. When the book finally comes out, the sense of relief, elation and excitement are well worth the wait! So the rewards are sweeter for having faced those challenges and disappointments head on rather than letting them derail me.

Finally, I am interested in how mood affects one’s work. As a writer, of course, my mood affects what I write. This I have known every since the angst and melodrama of my teenage years and first loves. As a chef too, I see how my mood can travel from my head and heart to my fingers and from there into whatever I am cooking.

Luckily, because cooking soothes me so much, this transference only rarely has a negative effect. Nine days out of ten, my food tastes good because I cook it with love, dedication and a positive frame of mind (as for that tenth, I guess, everyone is allowed the day off!).

So the Buddha was right. It is not who you are or what you have that creates happiness, it is what you think. And yet one can also twist his words to take on new, positive meaning: If you think positively, you can indeed shape who you are and what you have in the best possible way.