Dear Shabi, Let's Take a Walk

Dear Mom,

Mum. Mummy. Amma. I am to write a letter to the strongest woman I know. And like hundreds(a wild, accurate guess) of others, the first woman that popped up in my mind was my mother. Is that so surprising? Like many, I grew up close to a strong female personality- my beloved mom. You. So, no. I don't find that surprising at all.

But how do I show the world what I mean? How do I really make them see you through my eyes? As one amazing, fabulous woman. A force to be reckoned with. No frills, no exaggeration. Just the truth.

I want to walk with you. In this letter, I am going to compile all the snippets of our days together, to show anyone who reads this who you are. They say you can't know a person's life unless you walk a mile in their shoes. I can't do that. I can't walk in your shoes. But I can walk with you.

Let's begin at 7 A.M. You wake up, pretty tired, but still ready to tackle the day. You do your best not to wake your lazy(I said I'd be honest) daughter. You freshen up and get dressed for work. As you look in the mirror, you muse on how it seems like it was just yesterday, but it's been 27 years. It's been 27 years since you built your career from the bottom.

27 years ago, in a conservative South Indian society, women working after marriage(or even before) was considered unnecessary. Just stay home and take care of your baby, they said. It took you a helluva struggle and monumental courage to smash the glass ceiling of our home, and do it all.

You worked hard to get where you are. Working long hours, traveling for days. People warned you that your baby would resent you for it. Can I just remind you that your baby is proud to call you her mumma? You overcompensate everything you do for me, making sure to give me your absolute best. I've told you several times it's okay not to, but you still do. Thank you. I appreciate you.

You get breakfast packed, with Grandma, and then drive to work. Being a hospital manager is not easy. Even when you're not working, you have to be reachable. After all, you are in charge of creating an ideal environment to heal people back to health.

As you do your rounds at 9 A.M, you are reminded of the time being a frontline worker exposed you to the horrendous Covid-19. You knew it was risky, but you felt it was your vocation, your duty to work during the pandemic bravely.

Covid hit you hard and left you defenseless. You were terribly sick for weeks, but you fought back with all your might. You made it, thankfully. And you're back to work, running a hospital.

It's 11 A.M. As usual, inevitable issues spring up left and right. You're stressed and under pressure, but you are excellent at what you do. You are a brilliant leader- honest, compassionate, critical(in a constructive way), and uplifting.

You know how to handle people and situations effectively, with respect and tact. It doesn't always go smoothly, of course. It can't. But you try.

At noon, you give me a quick call. You drop all the tension for a minute to ask me about school/college/work. Once you know that I'm fine, you carry on with your work.

You eat your lunch at 1:30- usually two rotis and a gravy. You laugh with your friends and brighten their day for a while. I don't know if you realize this, Mom. Almost everyone around you has been impacted positively by the innate goodness in your heart. You are truly passionate about helping people. In fact, you firmly believe you must. And because you are so genuine and humble, you don't talk about it much, but I will, in this letter.

God, where do I begin? Funding the education of a few children, along with Dad. Guiding your friends and family members at a time of panic and distress. You do so much that you don't even remember how massively you influence and change people's lives. Just two months ago, a friend from school told me it was because of your motivational talk with her that she found her life's purpose. And to you, it was just another day. Just another person you felt the need to reach out to and help.

After lunch, you check Whatsapp, send a few obscure emojis, and get back to work. It's more chaos, more calls, more paperwork, more utter madness. How do you come home and continue to be productive? We have no idea.

It's 7 P.M. You finally finish work and get home, exhausted. You lovingly ask me if I need anything. I ask you if you know where my headphones are because I've lost them for the gazillionth time. You find them for me and give me a warm hug.

You talk to Grandma and Grandpa on the phone and then check on your aunts. Your aunts, my grandma's sisters are elderly and right now, alone. But you are the reason they never feel lonely. You make sure you get them everything they want and more.

Nobody's going to blame you if you don't. But you insist on always being there for them. You go out of your way and immerse yourself in a realm of problems, hospital visits, and sadness(even though you can't stand the hospital. After spending your whole adult life inside a hospital, you naturally would hate it.)

Whether it's them, my grandparents, Dad, or me, you are the first one to share our pain and make our burdens lighter.

I've said it before and I'm saying it now. You are this incredible 'Wonder Woman' who is indispensable to everyone in your life. You don't have to be, you know. It's okay to be a little selfish. You deserve all this love and felicitation even if you just lie in bed all day, taking time off from life. Your daughter will make sure people understand that, if ever you feel the need to just take a break.

I'm not saying you don't have flaws. You aren't quite close to perfect. I don't agree with all your life views and opinions. Oh, and two weeks ago, you couldn't find my headphones. That's a big one, Mom. Then I remember you carried me for nine months and birthed me painfully. So...yeah, we're good.

I titled this "Dear Shabi" and not Mom, because you have an identity outside of being Mom. To me, you are Mom, yes, but you are many things. My dearest Shabita Dinesh, you are fierce, strong, wise, funny, smart, beautiful inside and out.

If I ever become half the woman you are, I would be over the moon. We love you, Shabi. Stay amazing.