Tag: Mothers’ Day

Of Greatness

People talk so much about mothers and the sacrifices they make. For ages, people ignored their mothers and the sacrifices they made for their family.

But that’s changed now. Every mother’s day, people thank their mothers, speak so highly of their greatness and share photos on Facebook to show their gratitude to the rest of the world.

What about the other mothers?

She’s the one who starts work before you’re awake, sweeps your floors, cleans your bathrooms, refills your tissue rolls, clears away your empty cups, dusts your desk, rearranges your dishevelled papers, eats after you, and works on Sundays.

And yet, she’s not your mother.

She’s a maintenance staff. The people who make an office of a piece of construction.

So many of these maintenance staffs are mothers too. And it’s painful to see them working so hard for the people who don’t even spare a second look at them.

Most of them are my mother’s age. Every time I see one of them mopping the floor for the third time in a day, I wonder if I’d want my mother in the same situation.

I wouldn’t. Because it’s a sad job. Because people don’t see you for who you are; people don’t see you at all. And yet, not one of them walks past your place without taking away the cup you were too lazy to throw away. And if you happen to catch their eye, they smile at you — not the false smile you give your boss, but the one your mother gives you. What makes them do that?

I don’t think it’s passion for their work. A sense of conscience? Are they just loyal to their salary?

It’s not about the money. It was never about the money. Yes, it’s their job to clean, but it’s their choice to clean satisfactorily. Because they care. They care about you, they care for me.

It’s the human vulnerability. They look at me and they see their own daughter. The mother within drives them to do more, to do better.

I sat staring at the laptop one morning. It was the festival holidays and the office was almost empty. A maintenance staff came up and asked me why I didn’t go home for the festival holidays. We spoke for a while and she wondered aloud how hard it must be, living in a foreign city, away from family, not being able to go home for the holidays without getting crushed under poor roads and the terrible traffic of monsoon rains.

She works a 12-hour shift and her every break is valuable. She didn’t have to spend her time talking to me. But she did. She spent her free time consoling me. She didn’t know why I didn’t go home, she didn’t know I was too lazy to trudge through traffic.

She just assumed I couldn’t go, never once suspecting that I didn’t want to go. Because she’s a mother. And mothers don’t judge.

If that’s not great, what is?

Written for a contest run by Tata Motors to promote their campaign, #madeofgreat.

Since it’s Mothers’ Day…

childhood

It happens to us all.

No matter how old you are, there are always bad days. Days when someone calls you too fat to fit in the doorway. Days when you lose the keys that you shouldn’t have. And particularly those days when you’re too depressed to do anything but slouch on the couch, eyes closed.

It’s happened to me loads of times. But just knowing that there’s someone out there, only too eager to listen, can raise me up.

Of course, I’m talking about my mother. (You didn’t think of anyone else, did you? (this being Mothers’ Day, an’ all))

Funny how mothers always seem to listen without judging. (Ya, you can say the same thing about fathers, siblings and even some friends, but that’s not the point) Mothers are always a league apart, no denial.

That one thing I can never talk to anyone about? I can talk to my mother. Sometimes, you don’t need advice, you don’t need a multi-tasker, who listens to you while watching a movie.

Sometimes, what you need is someone who gives you her full attention, without cutting you off, saying she’d call back, or nod off to a slumber. My mother might not starve herself, waiting for me to eat first, she might not stay up all night watching me sleep like a log. But when I need her, she’s just there, listening.

But that’s not the best thing. Even though I’m away from home, I can always reach out to her. Not just by phoning her, but by just thinking of her.

I talk to my mother, just imagining her sitting next to me. Nodding, smiling, understanding, saying “oohs” and “aahs” just at the right time. And when I’m done ranting, I can imagine her patting me in the shoulder and saying, “ok, go eat something.”

No one else can ever do that.

Celebrating mothers. Happy Mothers’ Day. Any day.