My mother used to feed me lunch every single day — all through school and college. She had a unique way of mixing rice, dal, and vegetables and then squeezing a slice of lime that made the food taste extraordinary. I never asked her to do it. She just did. She believed I’d eat better that way — and she was right.
It started innocently one afternoon when she saw me fussing over the food. She mixed it up with her hands, offered the first bite, and suddenly, it tasted different — richer, warmer, full of love.
That one moment quietly became a daily ritual that lasted until I graduated and left my hometown.
Except when guests were around. That was our unspoken rule.
A Bond Beyond Routine
I’d come home exhausted, and she’d be waiting.
There was comfort in that routine — her mixing, me eating, our little world in motion.
Neither of us ever found it strange. Or embarrassing.
As the youngest in the family, we were both permitted to continue this ritual far longer than most. Not that we sought permission.
The Silent Accomplice
My mother was my silent shield.
When my father — a man of few words and firm rules — would’ve admonished me, she quietly stepped in to protect me.
Like the few times I took his car out for a secret driving session at dawn while he was on his morning walk. She knew, but never told him. It was her way of giving me freedom while keeping me safe.
Every child has that one parent who bends the rules, who covers for them with a gentle smile. For me, it was always my mother.
Love That Never Ages
Even today, she hesitates to wake me unless it’s absolutely necessary. Earlier this week, she had to — on account of a medical emergency with her attendant. But I could sense her discomfort, watching me stay up most of the night, checking on things every half hour.
To her, I’m still that little boy she fed with her hands. Parents never stop being parents — even when their children have children of their own.
The Truth That Took Me Years to Learn
We often take our parents for granted — expecting from them what we’d never expect from anyone else. It’s only when we become parents ourselves that we understand the depth of their patience, their fears, their quiet sacrifices.
We realise that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s served gently — one meal, one act, one day at a time.
Happy 80th, Mom! You’ve been my comfort, my courage, and my co-conspirator. I owe more to your quiet love than words could ever express.
About Me
I am a thinker at all times. I see, I think. I hear, I think. I read, I think. Every weekend I write. I would love to know what you think.
What a beautiful article, Rajen. It’s deeply moving. Thank you for sharing something so personal and tender. Belated happy 80th birthday to your mother, and wishing her many, many more years of health and happiness ahead.
Thank you, Anuradha, for reading, responding, and your good wishes for my mother.
What a beautiful article, Rajen. It’s deeply moving. Thank you for sharing something so personal and tender. Belated happy 80th birthday to your mother, and wishing her many, many more years of health and happiness ahead.