MY MENTOR AND BESTIE

By Anita Nair

Writer

Dear Mummy,

Or do I call you best friend, anchor, giggle-dost, research point, cheerleading squad, trivia collector, lifeline….so many descriptors and yet none would do justice to your place in my life.

We had our power struggles. The more you sought to mould me, the farther I fled. I was the rebellious child who couldn’t be coaxed to follow the straight and narrow. I was the young woman who was constantly trying to shrug away your influence. I would do it my way and not yours was my constant refrain.

All those wasted years or perhaps they were just a rite of passage I had to go through to discover the real you: The woman who taught me how to be a mother and a professional in the truest sense. The woman who stands up for what she believes is right. The woman who puts love before anything else but will not allow her dignity to be dented. The woman who hasn’t lost touch with the child in her; the woman who still sucks the marrow out of the time left to her.

You are my greatest inspiration. When I am 82, all I can hope for is I still have the joie de vivre that epitomizes you. As also your appetite for life and laughter.

Happy Mother’s Day my darling Mummy. It’s a privilege to be your daughter.

SHE DIED IN MY ARMS

AND TAUGHT ME HOW TO LIVE

By Jael Varma

Banker, poet and activist

Amma,

On a gloomy February morning, everything I lived for came undone.
You died in my arms—a few years ago now, but I still feel the weight of that moment, as if time itself bent around our goodbye.

You didn’t fight for yourself. You stayed for me. You knew l’d be left behind in a world where no one bore my name in their bones, no one carried my childhood in their memory. Every mother will understand. Especially those who have also been fathers. Even more—those who’ve had to be it all: parent, protector, partner, home.

You were my only true relationship. My beginning and the end. The one who held the weight of my karma and walked beside me throughout my journey.

We weren’t perfect. We fought-loudly, often.

As a child, I would say, “Amma, I want to die before you.” And you’d only hold me tighter, press your lips to my forehead, as if you could kiss away fate. But you left. Before I could. Without really leaving. The house echoes now. It’s missing your laughter, your scolding, your chai cups, your voice calling out my name just to hear it. You left your sarees, your books, your ashes—and me.

You were a true socialist to the end. My comrade, you did so well. You are loved more deeply than you ever dared to believe. I remember you with every breath. And yet-today, I Iive like a queen.
There is a joy in me that I can’t explain. A rooted happiness, soft and steady.

It is my tribute to you. To us.

So please-if you can, hug your mother for me today.
I would give anything for one more.

FEISTY AND FEARLESS

By Prakash Belawadi

Theatre person, actor, director, screenwriter and activist

My Amma,
During my childhood, adolescence and most of my youth, you were my idea of the fearless rebel, speaking truth to power and defying tradition. You were contemptuous of liars and lying.

In your mid-40s, when you were still an employee with ESI Corporation, you took an open university MA course in English literature. I was in engineering college, and I remember how you’d make me read aloud to you all those books your course had prescribed. You came up against some superior of yours, due perhaps to your standing up to Hindi imposition. You were posted to KGF, which entailed daily travel, and you’d rise and cook for the four of us, grown-up children, take a bus from Jayanagar to Majestic, and from there to KGF by 10am, head back to Majestic after office, usually for rehearsals, and get back home by 10pm. You were a tough one indeed.

You were a bundle of contradictions though. You wrote in Kannada, acted in Kannada plays and admired many Kannada writers, but never asked us children to read Kannada. You made us recite the Amarakosha, speak simple sentences in Samskrita and train in Carnatic music, but had very little interest in ritual or temple visits. You admired the RSS, but your favourite among my close friends was a Muslim. You treated him like a prospective son-in-law. You never smoked or touched liquor but participated with great enthusiasm in theatre parties at home.

With my getting on with my own little family and struggles, we drifted apart, re-imagining our world in different ways.

However, your idealism continues to inspire me, even today. Looking back, I realize I’m you and you’re me. The feistiness with which you took on poverty and unjust power is what keeps me going even in the face of challenges and obstacles.

My Anchor and Pillar of Strength

By Ashwini Jaisim

Co-host of ‘Two wise chicks’ podcast

Dear Ma,

Every time someone asks me who my role model is, the answer is always easy. It’s you.

You taught me early that independence isn’t just a choice—it’s a necessity. Whether it was opening my first bank account or learning how to stand on my own two feet (sometimes shakily), your quiet strength and financial wisdom were always my compass.

You came for everything—PTMs, school plays, musicals, and just like that too. You always showed up, even when I didn’t think I needed you.

You worry a lot. That hasn’t changed. But underneath it all, your constant reassuring presence has been everything.

Happy Mother’s Day, Ma. I hope I make you proud—even if I still don’t clean the kitchen the way you taught me.

MA, MY SUNSHINE

By Neecia Majolly

Pianist and founder-president, the majolly music trust

My dearest Ma,

Even as a young lady, you possessed tremendous courage moving to another country you never heard of, by ship, to be a high school teacher in a convent school.

That courage has always been a hallmark of yours. From introducing new curriculums in schools, becoming one of the most well respected and adored teachers in that country, publishing a book in your 60s, taking care of an ill husband (my father) and I (after a surgery) while preparing for a very important CA exam, running a house while being an educator, and always the life of a party.The last days with my father were extremely tough for you but you bore everything with optimism and never gave up.

Your strength and practical ways have always been an inspiration to me and others. You are strict but kind, with always a helping hand for those in need.

As a super senior citizen now, you refuse to sit quietly and keep buzzing around with your vegetable garden, catching up with relatives, pottering around the house, look forward to exploring new countries and much more.

Here’s to you and all the other brave mothers out there. All of you are what keep us ticking!