Snehlata by MC
I think I have finally turned into my mother—in terms of my demeanor, the way I cook, the way I am fastidious about keeping the kitchen as if it were never used, the way I sit to eat and the way I finish meals with fennel seeds as a mouth freshener.
Short of wearing saris, I think I got it all covered, including having an early onset of arthritic knees. As for saris, one of these days….one of these days.
She was an uninhibited singer. So am I and have always been. She was generally uninhibited. As am I.
On certain days even my hair looks like hers.
That’s where my becoming my mother ends. She was devoutly religious but totally devoid of sanctimoniousness. I am not devout at all. I have no trace of religiosity. I believe in nothing. But I am not even remotely sanctimonious about by total absence of faith and belief. She used to be amused by that but not once did she try to persuade me to her point of view. My flaming liberalism comes from her.
This morning while making lunch for my daughter and I, it struck me that even the way I sprinkle spices is reminiscent of her. While rolling Biscuit Bhakhris I became conscious that I was even squinting like her even though I did not need to.
As I sat down to write this very short post after a record-breaking 11 days of not having written my blog, it struck me that Snehlata is no longer alive by herself but intrudes in bits and pieces in me.
