Fair warning for this post is that I will sound like a vain dandy. And how will immodesty do for a TamBrahm boy with a good upbringing? But what use mother’s pride, if it is not acknowledged? If it can’t, at least, be used as homage.
Mom was the biggest fan of my writing. That is, if my limited and very sporadic output could be called writing.
Even the occasional articles in the college magazine, and some caption contests won, were a matter of great pride for her. There were my letters [handwritten in cursive style] to dad who worked overseas in Manila and then Jeddah for few years. Among the adolescent flavor of those letters [that I cringe about now], I used sports mainly tennis metaphors to tell him about my school rankings [“Becker did not do well at the Australian open (unit test) but he we will be back at Wimbledon (final semester exam)’]. Mom had him bring those letters back every year when he visited and those were neatly stored away in a box containing, oddly, bank check books and LIC receipts.
During days studying Engineering in Bombay, there was my self-righteous letter published in the editorial page of The Times of India, about a ragging incident at the VJTI hostel. With mom, that may have been the one that brought the house down. Our close relatives did not hear the last of that from her, and I could never live down the embarrassment from the extra attention.
Close family say I'm very laid-back to the point of being irresponsible sometimes. I’m sure if there’s one thing they could change about me, that’d be it.
When my mom was growing very sick, I had planned to step up my writing and blogging, if only because I wanted to print it all out, get it bound and present it to her. True to form, I never got to it and that will be one of my enduring regrets. Your writing is so bad it can disturb the dead was one famous editor’s legendary critique of a submission, but I still hope that mom’s watching over, and reading, my current output. Like her, I’m not very religious but just the happy notion that she may be watching over something that filled her with pride, brings me a lot of warmth.
It’s true, I’m mama’s boy and when Ammai [Usha’s mom] visits us later this summer, one of my plans to bond better [right now, we have what could be called a strong but silent relationship] is to pick her brain about obscure Tamil proverbs and sayings. Usha says Ammai drops those all the time and just some gems so far [“Adhikari kushu vitaal ananda kushu*”, “Valiya paarthal shingaram ulla paarthal okkalam**”] means I can hardly wait.
And when that happens, a blog post to share the joy of language I’m bound to experience will surely be on the cards.
{I’ve heard Tamil swear words are some of the most colorful around but sadly, I don’t think that’s something Ammai will encourage very much!}
* someone with authority are allowed mistakes that others are not
** decorative from outside, vomit inducing from inside [as in, a home]
Mom was the biggest fan of my writing. That is, if my limited and very sporadic output could be called writing.
Even the occasional articles in the college magazine, and some caption contests won, were a matter of great pride for her. There were my letters [handwritten in cursive style] to dad who worked overseas in Manila and then Jeddah for few years. Among the adolescent flavor of those letters [that I cringe about now], I used sports mainly tennis metaphors to tell him about my school rankings [“Becker did not do well at the Australian open (unit test) but he we will be back at Wimbledon (final semester exam)’]. Mom had him bring those letters back every year when he visited and those were neatly stored away in a box containing, oddly, bank check books and LIC receipts.
During days studying Engineering in Bombay, there was my self-righteous letter published in the editorial page of The Times of India, about a ragging incident at the VJTI hostel. With mom, that may have been the one that brought the house down. Our close relatives did not hear the last of that from her, and I could never live down the embarrassment from the extra attention.
Close family say I'm very laid-back to the point of being irresponsible sometimes. I’m sure if there’s one thing they could change about me, that’d be it.
When my mom was growing very sick, I had planned to step up my writing and blogging, if only because I wanted to print it all out, get it bound and present it to her. True to form, I never got to it and that will be one of my enduring regrets. Your writing is so bad it can disturb the dead was one famous editor’s legendary critique of a submission, but I still hope that mom’s watching over, and reading, my current output. Like her, I’m not very religious but just the happy notion that she may be watching over something that filled her with pride, brings me a lot of warmth.
It’s true, I’m mama’s boy and when Ammai [Usha’s mom] visits us later this summer, one of my plans to bond better [right now, we have what could be called a strong but silent relationship] is to pick her brain about obscure Tamil proverbs and sayings. Usha says Ammai drops those all the time and just some gems so far [“Adhikari kushu vitaal ananda kushu*”, “Valiya paarthal shingaram ulla paarthal okkalam**”] means I can hardly wait.
And when that happens, a blog post to share the joy of language I’m bound to experience will surely be on the cards.
{I’ve heard Tamil swear words are some of the most colorful around but sadly, I don’t think that’s something Ammai will encourage very much!}
* someone with authority are allowed mistakes that others are not
** decorative from outside, vomit inducing from inside [as in, a home]
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