Tuesday, 14th April 2009
I am guilty of under-appreciating my mum. Many times I have written about my friends, my teachers and especially my grandmother, but I rarely take time to reflect on the virtues of my own mother.
What triggered me to write about her today was the fish curry, which I had earlier. Last night, when she was cooking, I whined that she had been cooking fish too often and I went into my room without having any. After tasting it today, I had a twinge of conscience through my taste buds. The dish was beyond delectable and it spoke to me of the special ingredient that went into its preparation: love.
My mum is an extraordinary lady and has an amount of compassion I could not fathom how any person could gather. I often fault her for having a heart that is ‘too big’. Let me tell you stories.
My dad passed away in 1993, when I was ten, my sister eight and my brother six. He was only thirty-five and mum, two years younger. He was a kind man, the best son my grandma had and well liked by many but had financial troubles nearing his death so he left some huge amounts of debts for my mum to clear. Huge amounts, trust me.
Hear this. My mum is illiterate. At that time, she knew nothing much about most things. Imagine what a scary situation it must have been for her to bring up three young kids all by herself whilst trying to clean the mess my dad left behind. No offense or blame to my other family members, but I remember not having much support from many of them. In fact, many times, mum was a victim of vicious gossips. Single mothers are easy preys of contempt. Plus a lot of greedy men tried taking advantage of our situation. Allah was our Protector.
The four of us lived in a small two-room flat with only basic necessities. Most days, we had porridge and were all cramped into one room on one bed at night because the other room was given out for rent. Two months after dad’s demise, we moved in into a larger house which dad had signed for. However, because the insurance was not yet processed at the time of his death, mum did not get a waiver of payment for this house.
Our flat is what they call a ‘jumbo flat’, thus it is more expensive than the other flats. It costs more than half of mum’s salary each month and most people would have expected her to give this place up. She never did and till today, she’s still paying for it. Regardless of how much she struggled, she was determined to hold on to it because this was my dad’s dream. It was also the only asset she could ever fall back on in case we reached a dire situation. Mum’s sacrifice was for us, her children. My mum is a survivor.
Mum is used to working round the clock. She works as a shop assistant for my uncle (her older brother). Since 1993, she has been working for 7 days a week, for more than 12 hours each day. Except on Sunday, on which she works for half the usual number of hours. The only times the shop is closed are during Eidul Fitr and Eidul Adha.
Mum’s daily routine is like this: she wakes up in the morning, hurriedly does some house chores, cooks, goes to work and comes home late at night. Some nights, she does muruku (an Indian snack) or tairu (the Indian-style yoghurt) for extra cash (I just talked to her at 11.40p.m. and saw her starting on her muruku). When we were younger, our school fees were exorbitant since all three of us were in madrasah, non-governmental institutions. The bills are also not cheap considering the size of our flat. All these years, mum did not seek much external assistance because she was not aware the schemes. Even when she did apply when I got older and helped her with it, some were rejected on the basis that our flat is big.
I told you, she is illiterate. Her motivation was us. My mum is a survivor.
She managed through relentless hard work and renting out rooms to people. We had all sorts of tenants, most of who took advantage of mum’s naïve and generous nature. If I were to write about some of them, I would be consumed with anger and I do not want to get there.
There was a period of time when I did not make things any easier for her. For some reason, for about 5 years after dad’s demise, I detested mum and we often argued. Now that I look back, we were probably both coping with the loss and did not know how to manage it well. I think I had unjustly blamed mum for many things. I feel sorry for all that now, but the journey was probably necessary for us both. What’s important is that we learnt and Alhamdulillah, the relationship has improved considerably.
At this point, I realize I have a lot more to write about her but I don’t want to bore you readers with an entry that’s too lengthy so I shall continue with another post. Till then, I am going to further reflect on how wonderful my mum has been and why I should learn how to appreciate her better, insha’Allah…
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