The small stuff

Ma was not perfect by any stretch. She was a fretter as long as I remember. She fretted and sweated the small stuff. Lot of attention to unnecessary details (unnecessary to me). What I ate, what I wore, who I talked to. Such is the predicament of the Indian daughter. 

She worried most about money. We didn’t have a lot of it. Later when I used to send money and would frequently need to be reminded, she would lament about it. But such was her worries about money that she told me to clean out her various handbags while she lay in hospital and use that money while I was in the country. I did that. I cleaned her out and then promptly had to pay the locksmith when Chotu Mashi locked us out with it. Thank god for Ma’s nagging about “bagey cash rakho”. She also distributed her small stash of gold to her daughters (i don’t recall details) and even left something for future grand daughters in law. I hope Didi remembers those details. 

Now when I think of her, happy and at peace with not having to worry about money, it makes me glad. 

She also used to complain about Baba a lot. She would frequently snap at him. He was probably at the lowest order of priority for her when she worried - kids, grandkids were first in order. But as she lay in hospital, she talked (as lovingly as she could) about how devotedly Baba was attending to her. I don’t think she ever thought she would be leaving him or she would have fretted about that and had advice for us. Baba was much more patient with her than she was with him. But he indulged her a lot and also teased her a lot. 

She was a sucker for shiny new things. Jewelry, saris, creams. Nothing extravagant. And fancy foods like cheese, cappuccinos etc. She thrived on new experiences. 

She didn’t trust me entirely. Even after I learned to drive she didn’t trust me to drive her around. Eventually she would beg for rides and I had the upper hand. I miss those days a lot. The days before I moved away were my closest with my parents. I spent hours with them watching Bengali movies, listening to songs and driving them around. But she didn’t trust me always. She would keep nagging till I did what she asked. Definitely miss that nagging. Now no one cares enough to nag. 

And she wasn’t a loving mom by definition. She didn’t shower us with cuddles and kisses. In fact she avoided them. I would cuddle her and she would tolerate it. Since I was a kid. She was gruff sometimes. She showed her love instead by constantly worrying about us and small stuff. She would love us by going to the tailor for us. She loved us by cooking our favorite things. By planning our next move (turn off the lights, put away your clothes). She indulged us by spending her limited cash on trinkets for us. I found a stash of new earrings from her last trip. I promptly appropriated them. 

These words don’t justify how I miss my nagging mom who fretted too much about the small stuff and not ever about the big things that just have worried her like how will Baba manage. I don’t know now who will care enough about the small stuff.