A mother and a guru
The pain of losing a parent is immeasurable, and I recently experienced this loss. However, the love and memories we shared bring me solace and strength to carry on.
As a single parent, my mother raised three of us, shaping our lives with her unwavering dedication. Born in 1932 into an orthodox Hindu family, she defied conventions by graduating in science, a remarkable feat during those times much before ‘Beti padhao, beti bachao’. She scored a centum in maths, little realising that she would make a living out of it.
Married to a civil engineer, her new life started in dreaded places like Chambal and surroundings. It lasted only seven years as my father passed away in 1963, leaving behind my brother and sister, aged six and three years, respectively, and me, still in my mother’s womb. With support from her parents and my father’s insurance, she bought a house in Malleswaram, where my sister and I continue to live.
She started her teaching career at BES school and later joined a government-aided institution in Avenue Road, retiring in 1992. Despite her meagre means, she completed her post-graduation in philosophy from Karnataka University, Dharwad, and BEd from MES Teachers College.
As a mother and guru, she has shaped the lives of scores of children now spread across the globe who have high regards for her.
A voracious reader, she read the Deccan Herald and a Kannada daily, along with magazines such as Sudha and Kasturi regularly. I vividly remember my school days when, during holidays, we had to write the editorial of the Deccan Herald and Kannada daily, alongside the meanings of difficult words, referring to a dictionary in the pre-Google era. I inherited my passion for math, reading, and writing from her.
After retirement, she conducted classes for inmates at Seva Sadan and, as the President of Malleswaram Senior Citizens Forum, organised health camps and excursions for senior citizens.
She taught me many things that no textbook could teach. When I was working for a nationalised bank, she was particular that I avail the housing loan, as and when eligible, and construct a house of my own.
A contented soul, a ballpoint pen, or a handkerchief brought a broad smile on her face. A major portion of her pension was earmarked for philanthropy.
An expert cook, we miss her delicacies. As a grandmother, she was fortunate to have witnessed the wedding of three granddaughters. We hoped that she would live to be 100. But fate willed otherwise.
I showed her my writings, which brought her immense joy. Though she’s no longer with us, her legacy lives on through the respect and love she earned from all. If rebirth were possible, I would wish to be born as her son again, with both parents by my side.