My Story

Pappa’s flag bearer request was “one sip of tea” that announced his cheerful mood.

One evening - soon after I got married – we were all talking about Himalayas, and that triggered papa’s “one sip of tea” request. I quickly made tea, poured half a cup for all and handed the cups to all. Papa noted that there was one cup short, “where is your cup?”, and I said, “oh! I don’t drink tea!” He came up with “If I knew before hand that you do not drink tea, I would not have let Hemant marry you!” I was dumbstruck. But mummy was quick to respond, “She may not drink tea, but she is happy to go for Himalay treks, right?”.

Right from the time that Janaki was a toddler, he would take her in a folding pram to the Hanging Gardens park. He would catch a bus from our area, and spend an hour or more at Hanging Gardens, teaching her names of trees and flowers. And whenever he met friends there, he would take great pride in how many such names Janaki knew! Their route was from our house to one end of the road to Hanging Gardens by public transport bus. There was a tiny little shop near the bus stop where they got down, manned by a kindly elderly Parsi gentleman, selling a variety of lozenges type of sweets. Papa would buy sugar coated fennel seeds from him,  he would have a few affectionate words for Janaki, and she came to know him as “pi pi waalaa dada” – lozenge uncle. Even as Janaki grew up, that shop and “pi pi waalaa dada” became a fixture on all journeys to that area there after, and he always had an affectionate word for Janaki.

Once Vaidehi reached transportable age (!), he would take both of them to HG. Since Vaidehi was born after mummy left us, papa had a very soft corner for her. He would coddle her every whim during lunch or dinner, and if Hemant or I scolded her, he would cry!

We had a small bowl of silver as part of the paraphernalia of our consecrated alter to serve prasad sugar to the idols. He would use that and cut small little roundels of the rotali, put a piece of mango on it, and feed Vaidehi. We would ask him to put veggies instead, and he would not be happy with that!

Mangoes would first bought for Ramnavami (Lord Ram’s birthday) festival, because that was also mummy’s birthday. There would always be mangoes in our house till the last of “Langada” variety disappeared from the market.

I am one of the more fortunate daughter-in-laws whose relationship with their mother-in-laws was full of affection and warmth. I learnt life lessons in living with courage, generosity, thrift, work, enjoyment, all by simply observing how mummy lived her life, and encouraged me to live mine. I had been invited for dinner before the formal engagement (a normal practice amongst Gujarati’s). She served me the meal wit great love and warmth in a silver plate. After dinner we sat down for a chat and she said to me, “I have no daughter, so you are it! We need to be totally open and frank about any emotion we feel about each other, so that there is never any doubt about situations, so please tell me about it, and I know what you like or not, and there is no bitterness between us.

I was still studying when I got married. I was doing a post graduate diploma is Special Education at the Dilkhush teacher training centre at Juhu, and it was a 9 to 4+ time commitment. By the time I reached home, a hot snack and a glass of milk would be waiting for me. I would be preparing for an exam or working of some project, while mummy was working in the kitchen. I would feel guilty, and go to help her, but she would shoo me away, and say “go attend to your studies. All this can wait for later”. I started working at Sadhana School for special education. Mummy would finish more than half the morning chores and would have taken off for Prempuri and her rounds of temples and darshans, so that my tasks in the morning are easy and smooth. She never instructed, but explain with  tact and affection how things were to be done. “Wee need to do this, or could you get this ready? etc” and as a result, I never felt any pressure and never  forgot what she had taught me.   

One day, soon after Janaki’s turned one, mummy was feeding Janaki at the kitchen table, and said to me, “Janaki is old enough for you to resume your school teaching job. Think about it!”.

I was a bit stunned, but she convinced me that working for a few hours a day was feasible, and I rejoined Sadhana school for the afternoon sessions. And through the occasional extended hours or events in school, mummy never let me feel that she had to look after Janaki for excessive hours.

Mummy would be the most enthusiastic person when Hemant and I had to get ready for attending some event, or family function. Have you ironed your saree? Washed your hair? What accessories jewellery do you want to wear? She would make a special “mala” – lei – for her morning puja, and then give me that mala to adorn my hair that evening. When Janaki was still a toddler, she would encourage to go out socially, “I will look after Janaki, you go enjoy yourselves, and Janaki and I will play happily together”. Papa was of course never far from these plans.

I love “gol papadi” – a jaggery powered sweet.  One day, mummy had just started making gol papadi when I reached home. But we had a visitor just then! So, she handed me the spatula, and said “go ahead and finish this”, and went off to greet the visitor. But I had never made gol papadi, and knew nothing of how to carry on from where she left. I had seen my mother make “gol no sheero”, a thick porridge like sweet also based on jaggery, which called for jaggery dissolved in water. And that’s what I did! I added jiggery water to the wholemeal flour that she had roasted, and kept stirring the pan for over 20 minutes. No gol papadi! Mummy came to the kitchen, saw what had happened, said “leave it for now”, and turned off the stove. After the visitor had departed, she put aside the “sheera” I had been stirring, took out more flour, and stood by my side teaching me how to make gol paapdi. Today, I make gol papadi that the family swears by, but every time I make it, I remember this first attempt. Mummy had a knack of teaching me things with such finesse that I never forgot what she taught me.