The Indian mother who fusses over her children
I remember the day I cried as my little son walked into the kindergarten on his first day. I was trying to hide my face from the other parents out of embarrassment, only to realise that the other moms were teary-eyed too! In a few minutes, I saw that my boy was happily getting to know the other children. He seemed to have forgotten me. I realised that a mother will always be a mother, fussing over her brood – no matter which species she belongs to!
My mother always fussed over us, in spite of being a working mom. She still does. I remember how she used to get into the kitchen almost immediately after she returned from office and freshened up. She never let us work in the kitchen, and would always say ‘you go and study’. The same habit passed on to us, I guess – fussing over the kids and hovering over them. And Indian mothers are rather fussy I dare say. At least those of the previous generation.
So, as I look at life in retrospect, I see that I spent quite a big chunk of time in regret. How I must be a bad mother for wanting to go out and work; how hard-hearted I must be, to want financial independence at the cost of not being home for my loved ones. Especially those days when the kid was not well and I chose to stay home, somehow feeling that he fell ill because of me, because I must have been careless. No matter what, I always had that feeling at the back of my mind of falling short.