SNAPSHOTS OF MY MOM

                      

The Delhi airport doesn’t have a smoking lounge.  My mother was shocked to discover this after we’d finally completed their tedious check-in process.  She could have suffered in silence.  But being her, she charmed the military men standing guard at the airport into letting her back out again … through all the security checks … just so she could have a couple of cigs.

“Why do you allow your mother to smoke?”, their commanding officer asked me, shaking his head in horror.  I threw my hands helplessly in the air. 

For all that she’s lived her life in my father’s shadow, Mama is her own person.

A very efficient, lovable, wide-reading, smoke-addicted own person.    

                                       

I am writing this for me and for the children I may someday have.  I want them to know what their grandma was like in India at the age of 63.

I want my future kids to know that while I was walking cluelessly through the crowds – as always, pondering the point of my existence – she was literally trying to point out the cute guys.  She spotted all the good-looking Indian men around us.  It was hilarious! 

I want them to know that while I was quietly taking pictures at various sites, Mama could be found chatting up all manner of interesting characters. 

                                      

While I tried to sleep on our long car trips to Agra and Jaipur, she wanted to discuss how the smoke belching factories we passed were contributing to global warming.

She had studied the maps, was familiar with the various Indian states and knew the names of all the Indian desserts we had to try.  She was also intensely curious about the market produce, from the long thin cucumbers to the orange pomegranates that look like nothing grown back home. 

                               

She read the Indian newspapers that showed up in our room every day.  And made the fascinating discovery that their “matrimonial page” did not contain wedding announcements … it was full of families advertising for potential brides for their sons!   (e.g. “Wanted: Fair, beautiful girl from good family for 27-year-old MBA earning 37,000 rupees a month.  Career girls need not apply.”)  Traditional Indians, even the ones with MBAs, still believe in arranged marriages you see.

On this trip, I discovered I like to brood and she is generally perky.

                                             

I was almost in tears at the Gandhi memorial with the realization I have only half of my life left to do something truly great.  Ma couldn’t relate to the angst.  She said she’s always been content with her simple dreams.   

Seeing India was the realization of one of those long held dreams.  And I was blessed to share it with her … not just as her daughter but as her friend and fellow life traveler.