They say you never truly understand the value of something until it’s gone. In my case, “gone” was just a city away. But when I moved out of home, the lack of my mother’s presence echoed louder than I ever imagined. In Indian households, mums are often the silent constants — always there, always doing, rarely asking for anything in return. I told my mother I loved her often, gifted her something on Mother’s Day, but I never really saw her. Not until I moved out and started my own life.

Her love was in the little things

Back then, I thought love was about the grand gestures. But my mother’s love looked like a piping hot cup of adrak chai waiting for me after tuition. It was the peeled fruit before exams. The freshly washed bedsheets on Sunday evenings. The reminder to carry a scarf when it was too sunny. I’d give anything to hear her ask me, “Chai bana du?”

She was always tired but never showed it

How did she do it? Cooking breakfast, packing lunch, getting the house in place, helping me with my project (that I conveniently remembered at 10 pm), and then doing it all over again — every day, without a break, without complaints. I now struggle to put together a decent meal and iron a kurta in the same morning. And she did it for years. For all of us. I used to take that strength for granted. I see it now for the quiet superpower it truly is.

Her life revolves around ours

This is the one that makes my heart ache the most. She had dreams and hobbies too. A love for reading. A degree she never used. And yet, somewhere along the way, she chose us. I wish I had asked her more about her — about what made her laugh, what books she liked, what she would do if she had an empty Sunday. I was too caught up in my world, and I forgot she had a whole world of her own.

She let me fly, even though it broke her heart

She smiled when I left. Waved cheerfully. Told me she was proud. Even when she was scared for her daughter’s safety, she let me go because I wanted to. I didn’t realise how much strength that took, to be able to love someone enough to let them leave.

She’s not just my mother, she’s a woman too

I only truly understood this after I became independent. The label of ‘mother’ often drowns out everything else. But my mother is also a woman with desires, frustrations, dreams, moods, and flaws. She gets hurt, feels lonely, and craves validation. She also wants her space, just like me. And if I could go back, I’d spend more time being her daughter, not just expecting her to always be my mother.

I’m guilty of never looking beyond the mother she was for me, but I’m also glad that I realised it in time. So, on Mother’s Day 2025, gift your mom your presence and understanding.

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