My mother and I are best friends. Growing up, I never understood why most of my friends had to hide stuff from their parents and lie about their own life. I was an open book. It’s not like my mother and I do not fight or have disagreements, but she would never want me to compromise on my own reality because I was afraid of her reaction.
I am an only child of a single parent, a mother
Some people tell me, “You won’t get it because you’re an only child to a single mom.” I beg to differ. I don’t need to have it all to understand it all. I don’t need to be Laila to understand Majnu’s angst. I don’t need to be Tata-Birla to understand the value of hard work. I don’t need to be a driver to understand the nuances of driving. Plus, in my defence, I have a strong bond with my first cousins from my mom’s side and I did have a father whom I lost at an early age.
But what I wasn’t prepared for was having to live without my mother— my partner-in-crime, my confidant, and my best friend.
My excitement made me momentarily forget about my mother
I had been dating since my second year college and my boyfriend had managed to stick around for a good seven years. Both of us loved each other and fit well into each other’s busy lives. While celebrating our seventh anniversary, he got down and one knee and popped the question. Clouded by my emotions and love and everything romantic I fumbled a happy, choked up yes.
However I only realised the depth of the situation and its impact on my life a week later. My mom and I had been pretty excited planning the tiniest of details of this impending wedding. My boyfriend’s family (or should I start calling him fiancé?) planned on coming over to formalise our dreams and plans. All of us had known each other for a few years, so it wasn’t as awkward as one would imagine it to be. They got a pundit along and a date for our ‘roka ceremony’ was decided. But every day post that meeting was a realisation.
My all-knowing mother can just look at me and tell what I am thinking
My mother had already thought about it she tells me today, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t in my wildest dreams thought that I’ll have to move out of my house, to another city maybe and just be away from her because I fell in love and foolishly decided to get married. Every day my mother tried to reassure me that her sisters lived nearby and she was pretty social so I had nothing to worry about. But she was going to go to bed and wake up in an empty house, and that too a big house (courtesy: my grandparents).
Then came the fateful day of my roka. We had planned it at my house. All our close family and friends were present. Before I was to go down to the hall, I asked for a moment of privacy with my mother. Both of us looked at each other and she uttered, “It’s time.”
A conversation which sent me into an emotional overdrive
“I know, maa,” I uttered with a heavy chest. She told me not to cry now because, “Your makeup will start flowing and you should’ve cried in the morning when there was no makeup.” She knows how to make me laugh and cry at the same moment. I asked her to promise me that she’ll visit me every month if I moved out of the city or allow me to stay with her 10 days a month. She said, “I neither agree, nor disagree with your stupid demands.” A woman of strength and poise.
Both of us walked up to my father’s portrait like we do before every big occasion. We showed him how we looked, asked him who looked better, and took his blessings.
We walked down the staircase, hand-in-hand, to a room full of our loved ones. I could already see my maasis sob at the sight of me. I don’t know if it’s because they were happy I finally chose the saree or they were genuinely just crying out of love. I clenched my mom’s hand hard and she whispered, “Be nice, your dad’s watching.” How did she read me like that? I still wonder.
So thankful for my mother, my best friend
The ceremony was an emotional rollercoaster. At multiple times I felt like backing out, crying, and just looking at my mom for support. I don’t know how this woman does it all, be her own person, be my mother, be our rock and not let anything show on her face.
My roka was a trailer of my wedding, but that is another story for another day.
More stories on single parents to read through:
I Was Raised By A Single Mother And No, I’m Not Plagued With ‘Issues’
The Myth Of The “Perfect Mother” Is Being Busted By Modern, Independent Women
