I miss my mom so I try to recreate her presence with things I attribute to her: oil of Olay beauty fluid, Romance perfume, bright lipstick even if it’s the only makeup being worn, a sense of gratitude and readiness, a generous laughter, uncountable **** jokes, an appreciation of innovation and novelty, a hearty appetite for everything: life, food, knowledge, growth, and being firmly grounded in faith.
I have not found this composition of authenticity anywhere else, the perfect molecular formulation that gave shine to her eyes and confidence to her smile. And she was my mom, so I could boast and brag about any and all my achievements and she would multiply them, own them, honour them and wear them on her heart like a badge.
“Be all things that you loved about the people you’ve lost”, goes the saying. How? It’s impossible! Yet I try.
I have resorted to cutting onions freehand in circles for my salan like her, rather than the fancy crescents requiring a chopping board, (that I adopted as a statement that I was more refined and evolved than her). I used to make fun of her for tearing open her teabags as tea tasted better to her when freely floating in water. Now I’ve switched to loose tea. I readily bought amla, haritha and sikakai when I saw them in a local Indian store, though I had vehemently opposed all her attempts while growing up, to incorporate these to my hair care routine. (She had black hair at age 69 when she died. I started having grey at 27. In south Asian cultures this is a big thing). During her life, I was always rebellious to her methods. Now, I have submitted to their wisdom and simplicity.
The organic nature of life is to recycle things as they complete their turn. I cling on to my mom’s quintessence in the spirit of recycling them through me. I try to say the durood every morning as I wake up like she did, and count three good things of the day before I sleep like she did. I do everything I can as she would have liked. And I still miss her. I have even grown to love missing her, in a subterranean way , as this way she stays with me.
Today the missing has surfaced, like the supermoon of last night, causing super waves, tsunami perhaps. It will wane. With time. But love shall remain.
Arshia
31.8.23
but I needed to save this here