A Woman of Substance

A vision of a sixteen year old in pigtails. Ballet dancing. Eating bananas and cream, sitting and soaking in the sun on a large bay window. A book in hand. Elvis and Pat Boone crooning in the background. Breaking sweet tamarind pods from the garden. Cousins. Lots of them.

If I close my eyes, I can even listen to the laughter, trailing off.

I’ve grown up listening to so many stories of my mother’s childhood, that they’ve intermingled into my own memories. Much like Virginia Woolf’s ‘stream of consciousness’, one memory leads to another, and soon I’m left in a jumble of disconnected thoughts. However, if I focus, here’s what I find.

My favorite childhood memory is rummaging through my mother’s wardrobe. The thought of all kinds of interesting treasures to be discovered in the dark cavities of the almirah, fascinated me. I remember pulling up the wicker stool and climbing on it to reach the upper shelves (obviously, hidden treasures are never at eye-level!).The clothes section held little interest for me. My attention was captivated in where she kept miscellaneous items: ribbons, perfumes, jewelry, clips, postcards, photographs etc. I’d take the utmost care to make sure everything went back in its usual place once I’d held it and examined it, but somehow she could always tell what I had been up to!

In my ‘rummaging escapades’, the happiest point would be coming across a trunk of Mom’s old books. Perhaps it is for that very reason that that I’ve developed a love for the smell of old, weather-beaten, dog-eared books. Some of my all time favorites like Du Maurier’s Rebecca and Alcott’s Little Women were indulgences gained from those early searches. My love for poetry and nature is part of my genetic makeup. I marvel at Ammi’s ability to remember and recite lines from various poems, (a skill that I lack) as well as the ability to write heartfelt, deep verses of her own.

Ammi achieved her Masters in English Literature after marriage, with two kids in tow. She studied on her own and sat for the exams as a private student. What a proud moment it must have been when the results were announced, and she had topped in the entire University with flying colors! She went on to become a college professor of English Literature, much beloved by her students and respected by her colleagues.

As I look back now, I’m filled with awe at how gracefully Ammi has faced all of life’s challenges thrown at her. Her fortitude and resilience is mindblowing. The eldest of nine siblings, Ammi has faced tremendous loss in her life. Her youngest sister (not even thirty) died two weeks before Ammi delivered me. She would lose her remaining two sisters and a young niece, just as unexpectedly. Despite her tears, there is a spirit in her that is unwavering. In her younger days, the pain was emotional whereas now, I see her failing health and the physical challenges that she is encountering. She was a light-footed, highly energetic individual, always on the go. Life has forced her to slow down. To see that energy wiped out by diabetes, arthritis, falls and other ailments, is heartbreaking. Yet, her strong will helps her overcome it all. She avidly gardens, cooks and goes about all her daily routines much like before.

If there is anything that defines my mother, it is family.

Sometimes I get upset at her for always trying to stay in touch with all relatives, and expecting me to do the same. Perhaps I don’t have a heart as big as hers. She makes it a point to maintain contact as much a possible with her extended family. Her memory is matchless. We laugh when my father refers to her for his own family’s birthdates, names, historical information etc.She has stood by my father through the highs and lows for 55 years. From riding in saris on a Vespa on wintry, Abbottabad mornings, holding the fort while he was posted outside of Lahore, to being by his side on his international trips. She has never demanded much for her personal self, instead giving generously to others whenever possible. Her love and devotion to her children and grandchildren is unmatched.

A mention of family is incomplete without the myriad of vivid stories I have heard from her, especially about my grandfather. A part of me wishes that I could have seen those glory days. 11 Aikman Road resounds in memory a bit like Manderley in Rebecca, or Fuller Road as Downton Abbey. A house where relatives came to stay, parties were thrown, aristocratic dining ensued. ‘Vice-Chancellor’ and ‘Chief Justice’ seem like titles out of a royal fairy tale. Grand stair cases with wooden balusters ideal for sliding down. Houses you could get lost in!

I’ve inherited much from my mother. The physical attributes are the most obvious. I’d be a millionaire if I got a dollar for every time I’ve heard someone say, “You look exactly like your mother!” There are other not-so -obvious similarities. For example, our noses turn the same shade of red after a crying bout! We are both chocoholics, she with her Butterfingers and me with my KitKats. Diehard Downton Abbey fans (more recently, The Crown caught our attention and we binge watched two seasons in a couple of days) We are both highly sensitive, and expectations from others results in internal disappointment frequently.

What I haven’t inherited is her patience.

To be honest, I haven’t exactly been a saint. I’m perhaps the child that back-talked the most. At thirteen, I would barely speak to my mother without it becoming a major fight. Thankfully, this was short-lived! She became my best friend and confidant, and guided me through one the toughest phases of life- high school (groan! Girl drama….you get the drift!)

The best piece of advice Ammi has imparted, was never explicitly stated. She frequently hummed it in her favorite song as I soaked it in.

Que sera sera,
Whatever will be, will be.
The Future’s not ours to see
Que sera sera!

May the future be infinitely kind to you, and may God repay you ten-fold, both in this life and the next, for all the sacrifices you have made for us. You are my inspiration, always!

Happy Birthday, dearest Ammi!