Our mother, your mother

At school, Chiyu was told by her teacher to write 100 words on the school times of Aji and Ajoba. 'Talk to them and write,' the teacher said. Every home does not have Ajis and Ajobas, but that is beside the point. Chiyu called up Aji and Aji woke up from her afternoon deep snores to take the call. Chiyu cackled the query and an enthusiastic Aji replied on mobile video: I wrote my first Malayalam alphabet on a plate of raw rice and that surprised Chiyu.  Aji explained and Chiyu asked: 'What about English.' Aji replied: Ajoba studied in English, I in Malayalam.' Chiyu pulled off, did not ask Ajoba; probably, me dear, little lady knew Ajoba did nothing at school. Chiyu essay got 101 marks out of 100. Mother Dakhi was ecstatic, prepared aluvadi. And when Vidya, Dakhi and Ganesh were kids, mother Rama would wait at the door step with dosas, wadas, toast bread and jam and Amul butter, something or other for them, on evenings. They would rush home from St. Mary's English School in Dombivili in the evenings, jumping lorries screaming on the road. She would not ask what happened in school; keen her children had smiles on their faces after school hours; she fed them and she was happy while father missed it all trying to be a famed journalist and did not. Rama's oblong world was her kids. Today, Ganesh and Vidya look after Rama and me; Dakhi is on phone daily and there were times when she was a regular when Shreya and Chiyu were tots.  Rama, every day, 365 days of the year....Earlier, when me was at school, mother will not leave her home at Lake Temple Road, Calcutta in the evening; she waited with food, lovely, tasty food, especially adais and vadais. She never asked what me did at school; that was father territory. She did not object when me spent hours on the road playing gully cricket, trying to be a Nawab of Pataudi. Later, she had regrets me did not own a house, a car, a 3-piece suit, a status. Today, Dakhi after serving food, rather feeding Shreya and Chiyu, makes detailed dredging of the day at school. Shreya doles out in ladles; Chiyu, eats, takes her cycle and is off to play. Chiyu does not care for classes or schools; Shreya, the reverse. Me mother, Rama and Dakhi never talked careers; they were housewives and our feminists will protest. And today, when school buses rush on Link Road, breaking signals, me thought of the School Kid 2017. Under loads of books, they climb into buses as mothers rush to put ladders to their careers. And on Link Road, there are school vans packed with kids, like vegetables on a lorry; mothers and fathers do not protest; yes, they have offices to go on time, bosses to please, money to make. After all money defines a Mumbaikar, the best. Dakhi has a friend working at a bank, a top officer. She leaves for office at 7 comes back home at 8; her daughter is fed by a 24 hour cook; on week-ends she buys everything her daughter asks. Sometimes, Dakhi asks her kids whether they will look after her when she turns an Aji. Yes, is the answer today as Chiyu puts in a demand for vada pav. Isnt that something?