The other side of a mother

Two years ago, when her father was away, Kamala used to wait for his calls. The conversations will be long or short, depending on her mood. Sometimes, if he calls in the middle of a cartoon show, she will simply ask him to call later and hang up. Other times, her end of the conversation would be full of descriptions (or complaints) about various things.

At one time, a call came in the middle of a full-fledged argument between us.

"Hello? Daddy, is that you?" (bursts into angry tears)
".."
"Auuggh....(sob)..Its Amma, daddeee.....She is so mean!"
".."
"She's forcing me to do homework!" (sob)
".."
"But I did a problem, daddy. And Amma say's its not right!"
".."
"The problem says to divide a square in two. I drew a line down the middle....*sniff* And Amma says the line is not straight, and goes and measures things with a ruler. Augggh...She is forcing me to do things in HER exact way."
".."
"I just want to finish it, daddy *sniff*, and she's not letting me finish!...Amma is SO mean, daddy!"

*-*
Last week, another school year has ended. There have been complaints about "forcing me to improve my grades", "forcing me to be responsible", "forcing me to practice dance" - but mercifully The Mean Mother will have a break from complaints for the summer. Hallelejah to that!

The plan is to hit the gym, in preparation for the new school year. I need the stamina, right? :)

*-*
We recently moved, and in preparation for the move - I took stock of the things we had and decided to donate many things. Some of them included clothes - mine and hers - that are in good condition, but will never be used. I put them all in boxes, ready to drop them off at the nearby Goodwill donation center.

Kamala chances upon a pair of shorts in one of the "donation boxes", and pulls it out eagerly.

"Are these yours, Amma?"
"Yes, mmhmmm! They are my biking(bicycling) shorts!"

She looks at me, surprised.
"You used to go biking?"
"Yeah!"

At that, a whole swath of forestland comes before my eyes...the beautiful woods about a mile from my university. In the summer and fall, I had taken off on my bicycle many times, riding into the silence - taking stock of the trees that had burst into bloom in summer, and the color-changing leaves in the Fall. Orange, red and yellow were the leaves, the wind sweeping them off the ground before winter. All I had back then were a few clothes, books, and a secondhand bicycle.....The spartan possessions of a scholar. But it was a good life.

Once a year, a little away from the small university town, various country musicians would gather, for an open-air concert. I would go there with a group of friends, and sit there late into the night, having a picnic under the stars, and swaying to the music. All this seems a far cry now, in this urban setting, where the automobile rules.

My bicycle was a constant companion, right until my third month of pregnancy, when my doctor asked me to stop using it. I used to ride it to my lab late at night, and return home in the wee hours of the morning, a can of Mace in one hand - ready to spray red-hot chilli juice into the eyes of any would-be attacker.

I gave the bicycle away, soon after graduation. I could not bear to sell it.

Kamala's voice brings me back to the present.
"Can I keep these shorts?"

I nod. "Yes, child. You can"
"Yaay!"
"And what is this?"
"Oh, that. My steps"
"What steps?"
"I did step aerobics - you exercise on these steps"
"You did aerobics?"

She has seen aerobics on TV, and seems astounded that her mother had been in such a class. I laugh out loud at her surprise and draw her close.

"I wasn't born as your mother, child! I was a kid before that, a student, a wife, then I became a mother"
"Why did you stop biking?"
"There are no woods here, and I don't like biking on busy streets. They make me nervous."

She thinks for a moment.
"Why did you stop acting in plays? You used to do that before!"
"Well....I don't have time for so many rehearsals."
"I can help you!"
"Ah-ha, missy. You do your homeworks without screaming, first!"

She grimaces, and then smiles. She keeps looking through boxes, and taking out a few things. Wants to keep them, and I oblige. Better enjoy this phase before anything from a parent's younger years become passe' :)

The fun part was watching her surprise, at her parent having had a very different life before she was born. She wants to grab and hold any reminders of that, and I am happy to pass on those relics.

I remember my own delight, when I chanced upon a picture of my father or mother, from long ago. One picture has my father when he was seven or eight. Another was of my mother, when she was about twelve. To them those pictures were mundane, but to me they were treasures. It is amazing to see that they had very different lives before we came along....That they were not always these grown-up, responsible people.

Why exactly should this be a revelation?....Somehow it is. A bit of family history we stumble upon, that we turn over in our hands and minds.