Happy Mother's Day

When my mother was born, in India, it was before birth records were maintained. Somewhere in 1949 or so when she had to make her first trip outside India, they needed to get her a passport, and, so the question of assigning her a date of birth came up. My grandfather was consulted on this important question and after some head scratching he came up with the memory that the Great War (World War I) broke out about two weeks after she was born. So, June 22, 1914, was assigned as her date of birth.

I mention this story about her date of birth because when I was little, she instituted the practice that my birthday would be celebrated twice every year, once as per the Gregorian calendar and once as per the Hindu calendar. Since I was growing up in England, she thought that would be a good way of ensuring that I stayed in touch with ‘our traditions.’ So, till the age of eight, I had cake and Jello on my birthday as per the English calendar and payasam (calling payasam rice pudding would be a bit of a travesty, however, it belongs to the genre of rice puddings) on my ‘star’ or Hindu calendar birthday. Needless to add, I also got two sets of birthday presents. This practice, I regret to state, was discontinued soon after we returned to India, in 1958. My mother did not see the need for me to keep in touch with practices, ‘back home, in Old Blightey…’

A mother is the huggable, soft being who has shielded you from imaginary ghosts as thunder crashes and lights streaks across the Indian monsoon sky. Notwithstanding her own fears she will deal with the ugly cockroach that comes out of the washroom as her eighteen year old son shrieks in terror. Though she is now gone for nearly twenty five years I still remember the warm feeling as a three or four year old, hugging her and going to sleep.

Motherhood is fiercely protective. See soccer moms arguing with the coach and the way a mother goose bursts into a fierce shriek when you approach the little goslings, and, you will know what that means.

Interestingly, the Buddha recognized this quality in his Metta Sutta. Defining the quality of Metta, or loving kindness he said,

mata yata niyam puttam
ayusa eka puttam anurakke
evam pi sabba buthesu
manasam bhavaye apparimanam

Just as a mother protects her child,
Her only son,
So should we protect all beings…
Such is the quality of loving kindness, fiercely protective, fiercely protective of the whole Universe, not, just one’s biological children...

Today, with diaper changing tables as common in men’s washrooms as in those for women, the quality of being a mother in some way goes beyond gender. This morning as Lakshmi and I went biking we saw a young man in his late twenties, teaching an eight year old to ride a bike on the trail while holding a second child his arms as the infant finished its bottle feed. Multi tasking which twenty years ago only a female mom would have been able to do.

And so, to all those who nurture and protect, this beautiful rendering of India’s national song, Vande Mataram, (Homage to Mother) rendered by one of the best Indian classical singers still alive, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OviaeN38F_0&feature=related