Those forgotten mothers

There are not many lyrics sung in their praises, not many stories, not many artists cared for their love. We all grew up thinking mothers can love only their biological children, the image so implanted into our heads, we start to hate them even before we see them. Yet there are millions of them, million of lovely ladies, million of mothers with so much love you are surprised why they are loathed in every story you read.

I am so busy at work, I never get time to enter into food blog events, yet when I saw Jhiva for Love, I couldn’t resist. For I know a woman, who has served me every dish with love. If my mother taught me how to love, my mother-in-law taught me how to create and serve love, hot and tasty. I have written many times about my mother, it is high time I write about my other mother.

As soon as I saw the event details, it is she who came into my thoughts, for if not for her I wouldn’t even have this blog, for she is the one who taught me to keep the traditions alive even if it is for something as mundane as cooking. Then I read an article in a Malayalam blog about a daughter-in-law missing and loving her mother-in-law, and the author depicted it as a very strange thing. Well, well, well. If we daughter-in-laws don’t speak up now for them, when will we?

When I got married, I was naïve as in n-a-i-v-e. I got married young, very very young if you measure my mental maturity too. I was terrified of the whole idea of marriage, watching Sauson ki Zindagi kind of soap serials where mother-in-laws torture their bahus (daughter-in-law). In India, there is a thriving million dollar industry of soap serials running on just that theme. Take any soap serial and the theme is mother-in-law Vs daughter-in-law, like an India Vs Pakistan cricket match.

Family is the most important thing for me. Hence, I was terrified not in fear of her, but I was worried a small wrong word by me, a misstep by me will never be forgiven and I will destroy the peace of the family I am married into.

It was a completely different World.

The few days I stay with her when we visit home, I watch her cooking up excellent dishes, from the scratch, following the traditions, planning everyday intelligently, serving the dishes right on time, with the right amount of flavors and lots and lots of love. She prepares a huge feast in a short time and she does it like a musician with ease. It is from her I learnt that the finer detail is what makes a dish, a beautiful memory.

One time, the only time when I made a dish at my husband’s house was chicken biryani for one Christmas. Since it was a different type of oven I was not used to, it turned out be a disaster. There were so many guests gathered at the house, and I was at the verge of crying. She just smiled and hugged me. Then she took on the reins, swiftly managed the whole show and just fixed the dish here and there doing her magical tricks.

She runs behind me with a plate laden with food, feeds me urulas with her own hands, when I skip food to catch a train or a bus. She playfully frowns at me when I pout and complains fulllllll touching my belly after a sumptuous lunch. She always sits besides me while I eat, forcing me to have more helpings. Many have mistaken her for my own mother when we are together.

She writes letters to her son, asking him always to help me in the kitchen, share all the work and telling me to make sure he does (It is a whole different story, whether he listens to that or not). She taught all her children to be good human beings first. It is from these mothers men learn to respect women, from them they learn to be a good husband. I thank God everyday for giving me such a kind and a real woman as my other mother.

I am still learning, smaller things, yet so important about life and living, whenever I talk with her. Her prayers, her assurance, her strength and courage is the real light in our small family across many oceans, miles and miles away from her.

I dont have a particular dish to serve for the event except to say,

Mother, I LOVE YOU.