It seems fitting to accept this on Mother’s day. A couple of years ago, I came to a very surprising revelation: when I opened my mouth, my mother often came out!

This discovery would have been galling to me earlier. By the time I became a teenager, I was so full of myself that I had concluded that I was too smart to benefit from her knowledge.  After all, she was no good at calculations and was hesitant about her fluency in English during social interactions. I often assisted in the calculations for household expenses. For reasons best known to her, she was traumatised by the daily chore; her fear led me to resolve to keep no accounts when I was older. Not an intelligent conclusion! My fluency in English was due to my convent school upbringing and the habit of reading. My proficiency in the 3Rs made me intellectually smug and insufferable; it would, however, later help me assert my intellectual superiority over my children (for a few wonderful years).

At the ripe age of 25, I discovered the depth of my mother’s intelligence and wisdom. I was shocked. Both by the evidence of something I had assumed to be absent for a quarter of a century, and by my superciliousness. An extremely vivacious and supremely confident woman, she had seen no need to flaunt evidence of her intellect. I would realize over time how much I had learned/ imbibed from her in the short time we had together. She taught me almost everything that is important. From how to treat people to laughing at obnoxious jokes. She made me learn how to fold clothes and do needlework. I learned to sing and cook because she made it seem effortless. But most importantly, she gave me the confidence to be my own person. To be second to no one. My mother was a feminist, much ahead of time.

I see a lot of her in myself. But I can only aspire to emulate her zest for life and her compassion. And her organization skills; my closet remains a disaster zone. The generosity of her spirit. Her poise and wisdom. Her joy in living.

Life comes full cycle. My daughter hated anyone telling her she looked like me. My son who I was sure adored me, declared in grade 6 or 7 that he would become a software engineer, like his father. Since my husband and I have the same degree, I gently asked him – ‘Like me too?’ He looked bewildered and spluttered, “But you are crazy, mamma!”