Mothers embody much more than love.I can attest to that as a mother myself.But it is not just nine months of gestation that defines a mother.And you don't even have to give birth to become one.It is more the what happens after that. I am reminded of this when I watch not so subtle hints dropped about the second Sunday in May in ads in the print and electronic media.

My mother had two children in as many years and so could not get as much maternity leave as she would have wished for.So after considering a few options, she decided to ask our maidservant who was actually a day servant(someone who did not stay in the premises) if she could look after the newborn once she went back to work, which would be six weeks after giving birth.The lady agreed and thus it was that I was placed in her care when I was a mere 40 days old.I can imagine what a heartwrenching decision it would have been for my mother-as it still is today for millions of mothers,for whom financial considerations are a rude brake on the joyous process of child rearing.

By then my Ayah( the term used to address grandmothers in South India) had agreed to be a live in maidservant, just so she could look after  my older sister who had just turned one, and me.This arrangement lasted almost until I finished school and it turned out to be one of the most productive and life shaping experiences I have had the fortune to have gone through.

She was my mother-if that is the person who you look at every moment of the day and if that is the person who picks you up when you cry and cuddles you and is there for you all the time. My Mom tells me she used to swaddle me in her sari just to keep me close to her. My mother worked in a school which was a 15 minute walk from home, so she came home for lunch(more mine that hers during the first year-as she reminds me often!!),and then came back from work in the evening. So my Ayah looked after us the entire day,while managing the household, cooking ,doing laundry, shopping for groceries-pretty much everything. Essentially she did everything a stay at home mom did and was paid for it.

She had had a tough life before she entered our lives. Having nursed an unfaithful husband and a wayward daughter through terminal illnesses, she was alone except for a grandson who she told us,she couldn’t trust. So we essentially became her family and she, ours without question.

One of my earliest memories is of her picking up my sister and me from school . I still treasure those long languid walks back home.She used to buy us forbidden candy from unkempt, tiny shops on the road, and something called sherbet-made with water from I am not sure where(which probably would have killed a weaker stomached person),a silky syrup and a dash of lime.This was again from a push cart store operated by a lady respectfully called Bai amma .Both these things were strictly forbidden by my parents and they never found out until much later.But the crowning glory was that she let us have coffee when we were barely 6-7 years old!Since we came home earlier than my Mom did(both of us went to the same school,the one our Mom taught in),we could have the coffee and she would be none the wiser.

She knew everyone’s likes and dislikes and so cooked accordingly.She kept our house very neat,washed our clothes by hand ,and was so efficient that life went along very smoothly for us.

She was a very neat person,who had a very dignified manner about her-so much so some  people thought she was my paternal Grandmother!

My Ayah was the best cook I have ever come across.She was from the northern part of the state while my family was from the south,but she adapted so well,that no one would be able to make out that she had learnt most  of our recipes much later in her life.

She did cook for herself too,and I remember partaking of her days old fish curry which was actually curry which had been heated,and reheated everytime more leftovers were added to it.So you might be eating something that was actually cooked a week ago,but the aroma,the taste still lingers in my senses –salty,spicy and sour-I can still see my Dad making a face everytime I shared her repast!

I was the apple of her eye and  she would do anything for me.She would cook stuff I liked, save some for me separately so I could have more than the others did.If I fell sick and stayed home,she would finish off all the housework early and sit at my bedside and entertain me with stories of her life before she met us.I have never ever felt she was in any way a paid servant who was there to work for us.She was there for us ,and that she was not related to us was just incidental.

She was a Hindu while we were Catholic, but her excitement before Christmas matched ours. She would busily prepare sweets and savories to be shared with friends and family and would bask in our admiration!Everyday when we came home after school,she would have made a sweet or a savory and we would get to taste and comment on them -and she would wait expectantly to see what we would say.And when we gave her the thumbs up-she was so happy and satisfied-and this would be repeated for a few more days until all the sweets and savouries needed for sharing with friends and family was made and stored away.

She used to sleep in the patio outside our house and we used to loll around on her mat for a while before we went inside to bed.She chewed paan leaves with betelnuts  and watching her prepare the leaf was in itself a small show.Two leaves with their stalks picked off,a daub of lye,a small piece of betel nut,and into her mouth they would go and she would chew them  until the  mixture was a brownish red pulp.We used to ask her to show us her mouth once she was done just to see that vibrant hue!!

She was slightly hard of hearing and so had the habit of sitting next to the television just so she could understand what was going on.We would also be roped in to explain stuff she missed.

When we grew a little older we would help her with the house work and I started learning to cook thanks to watching her for years and wanting imitate her prowess in the culinary field.

Slowly but surely age caught up with her and she started losing her eyesight,and became weak .She wanted to keep working but we could not imagine putting her through that.So she finally decided to go visit a sister of hers.While in her sister’s place, she suffered a stroke and never recovered.I visited her there and was heartbroken when I found that she couldn’t recognize me.

The first Christmas without her was very tough.We could barely eat,we did not make any sweets to share,and were glad it got over.

Twenty three years have passed since she disappeared from my life but I can sit back, close my eyes and feel her beside me-her cotton sari,with white blouse(always a white blouse),the tattoo of a bindi on her forehead,her strong veined hands,her nose rings,her face a with  thousand wrinkles.I can hear her voice,the lilt when she called my name,her funny names for people who visited our house,her style of speaking our language- and I suddenly turn six again.I want to hold on to her,show her how my life is now,especially my children-oh what a fuss she would have made over them!!  

I owe so much to her.I cook-pretty well,I think-thanks to her.And yes,I make the same stuff she did all those years ago for Christmas-they turn out good,for after all I watched her and learned.I am more open minded about people because she taught me that really loving someone was unconditional.

So this wish goes out to everyone who looks after children-grandmas,nannies,day care personnel,baby sitters-celebrate- for a mother is not just the person who gives birth-she is the one loves,and is there for the child.Thankyou for being there for every child you mind,because you do mean much in that child’s life,and one day he or she might look back and be grateful for that tear you wiped away,that wound you cleaned,that food you fed patiently,that tantrum you helped calm down,the lullaby you sang or the diaper you changed.For they say,” A mother holds her children's hands for a while, their hearts, forever”