The Most Beautiful Mama

My mama has always been beautiful.

It is a beauty that is natural and effortless and is the type of beauty that filled my heart with longing when I was a child. I can recall staring at how flawless the even color of her skin was, how adorable the few freckles were on her cheeks, how symmetrical her nose was. I remember thinking how absolutely perfect she looked in a sari, her pleats folded so pristinely, and the tuck of material into her waist seamless and smooth.  I would often feel the softness of my mother’s hands. Hands that had delicate fingers that moved with precision and purpose. Hands that kneaded chapati dough and even held tight to a lawn mower. No matter what she did, her hands were always soft, always welcoming, always beautiful. But she never liked to focus on her own physical beauty.

My mother’s true beauty comes from within. 

I understood certain aspects of this inner beauty when I was a child.

The beauty that comes from her servant’s heart and her work ethic -- that beauty I recognized in my full-time working mother. I saw a woman that worked very hard. A woman who helped deliver babies and was an expert in her profession. A woman who worked overtime and packed lunches.  A woman who could not eat a treat at work without bringing some of it home to her kids. A woman that cooked and cleaned and did laundry and still made time for Easter baskets and turkey on Thanksgiving and wrapped gifts on Christmas morning. A woman who would have pancakes and bacon ready on the Saturday mornings she was off or a baked cake waiting when I came home from school or my favorite curry simmering in a skillet in the evening.

The beauty that comes from her unwavering faith in God – that beauty was an easy one to recognize in my church-going mother. I saw a woman that prayed daily. A woman who attended every church meeting that was offered and cooked for a whole congregation. A woman whose knowledge of the scripture and of choruses was vast and whose dedication to God was unquestionable. A woman whose connection to God was so clear that she would know things about her children that we had never shared with her. A woman who understood too well that a life of faith does not mean a life without hardships.  A woman whose sincere and selfless prayers woke me up on weekends and carry me through life today.  

What I did not fully grasp as a child were the complex layers within the beauty.

My mother is an immigrant and that is beautiful. She is a woman who chose to pursue opportunity far from home when she received a letter from a hospital located in West Virginia asking her to come to America and work with them. A woman who started working two days after landing. A woman who temporarily had to leave a toddler son and a strong-willed husband who asked that she mail him a letter every single day while apart. A woman who learned how to drink iced tea ("take that lemon and squeeze") from the older woman she first lived with in America. A woman who looked forward to cafeteria food, specifically Fish Fridays. A woman who succeeded, against all odds.

My mother is a survivor and that is beautiful. She is a woman who, as a young teenager, left her small town in South India to begin nursing school in Bombay because she knew she had to. A woman who risked much to chase a new life. A woman who learned what it took to endure in America. A woman who was picked up from the airport by hospital staff, dropped off at a hotel immediately, and told “do not open the door if someone knocks”. A woman who quickly understood when not to make eye contact and when it was important to speak assertively. A woman who learned to always trust that small still voice. A woman who learned how to drive on the opposite side of the road and how to make the most delicious burgers, meatloaf, pastas, and pot roasts. A woman who learned how to save money and budget while still sending money back home, still dreaming of a time when she would be reunited with her family. A woman who sacrificed her time and her comfort to have enough and to give enough. Always.

My mother is strong and that is incredibly beautiful. She is a woman with a powerful will and a steady mind. A woman who is as fast as a trained runner and as nimble as a gymnast. A woman who can push and move any large object, open any jar, and walk for miles. A woman who has lived through many tragedies, both personal and public. A woman who has the exquisite blend of physical and mental strength.

My mother is my hero. She is a woman with busy hands. Hands that helped and soothed thousands of new mothers and babies. Hands that have measured medicine and cleaned wounds. Hands that applied ponds cream to my face every morning before church. Hands that dusted and wiped windows, set tables, and put away dishes. Hands that gripped tightly to knives chopping through onion and garlic, while grabbing a few mustard seeds to sputter in hot oil. Hands that rubbed our backs while sick and massaged my shoulders while I was pregnant. Hands that have clapped in laughter over a miscommunication with my husband. Hands that have skillfully planted beautiful flowers and pulled weeds, when needed. Hands that pet my dog (even though she is allergic) and hold sequence chips, uno cards, and blokus pieces while playing games with my children. Hands that always find themselves in prayer posture and are always ready to be lifted in praise. Hands that so frequently turn the pages in her Bible. Hands that have begun to show signs of the glory of her life; hands that need to rest a bit more than before. Hands that deserve to rest. Because they belong to a woman that is beautiful in every sense of the word.

My mama is beautiful in new ways to me these days. I have gotten the privilege to sit with her and hear stories about events that have shaped her, changed her, and empowered her.

I wish I had known these stories when I was younger. I wish I had acknowledged her accomplishments and brilliance more. I wish I had thanked her for her choice to keep going. I wish I had cheered her on more. 

But I am grateful for the time I have now to continue to learn from her and to process what true beauty means. 

Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! 

I love you so very much.