Rebecca Manari
Soon after my first birthday, my mum died of a sudden heart attack, leaving my heartbroken father with ten children to care for. I was the youngest, and besides my incredibly patient and caring father, I had many older sisters and brothers to take care of me. Still, I felt the absence of a mother deeply. I was a tiny, shy, timid thing, easy to miss in a crowd. I hardly ever spoke to friends about my family, or the incredible void in my home, and my heart because of my mother’s absence. Most of my friends at school had no idea what I was going through.
Just one girl, Preeti knew, and she happened to be a very close friend since I was about five.
As two families, Preeti and my family couldn’t have been more different. I had ten siblings while she was an only child. I grew up without any extended family nearby, while she had both her grandmothers, who were very involved in her life and lived at home with her. Her mum cooked simple, homely and yet delicious meals from scratch in her house, with Preeti sometimes helping and sometimes seated on a stool in the kitchen, chatting away as her mum cooked. Our kitchen could have been more functional at home, and we always had meals from a restaurant my father managed.
I had a father who was always present. In contrast, Preeti’s father, an income tax officer, was often very busy at work, and she only saw him at night when he returned home.
Preeti’s family had invited me to stay at her place at Diwali time for a few days. I excitedly went,after packing my toothbrush, a few sets of clothes, a fancy outfit for the festival, and my best-looking nightdresses for night-time, instead of just a worn-out oversized T-shirt, like I wore at home.
For those few days each year, I experienced the presence of a mother in my life. I got a taste of what having a mother was like. From being woken up cheerfully in the morning to being forced to down a cup of Horlicks while stern Mom-eyes watched to see to it that you finish every drop, chatting in the kitchen while her mum made us dosas and chutney for breakfast, hearing tales of her mum’s childhood pranks and games, getting advice on everything under the sun. With her mum, we would choose a rangoli design from an old worn-out diary and painstakingly draw it with rangoli powder on her front step each morning. I was included in every single mother-daughter ritual in their house. I became so comfortable with this family, and even today, I sometimes wonder if my friend and her mom know how much those few days meant to me. Thinking about those days, it warms my heart even now, over twenty-five years later.
Today, as a mother of three children myself, I remember Preeti’s mum fondly, the bubbly, cheery figure from my childhood. She was always happy to engage in pleasant conversation, which makes me think a lot about how much children must lean on positive people in their lives. She has taught me so much and added value to my life, probably without even realising it.
I wonder how much of an influence she played in leading me to eventually work closely with helping families in my work too.
I am fortunate to be part of an organisation that works closely with children needing help and their families. Sethu is a centre that helps children with developmental, behavioural, emotional and learning difficulties. Often, the children who come to our centre struggle with emotional challenges or academics at school and go through great stress. They definitely aren’t getting many gold stars or pats on the back from school teachers, and they certainly don’t hear many words of encouragement from their peers. Life at school, and sometimes at home too, can be very stressful when you aren’t seeing much success.
As cliched as this may sound, the few kind words of encouragement and a cheerful smile they get at our centre take them a long way. I know from my own childhood experiences that you really don’t know when you’re making a difference in a child’s life.
As part of my job, I am surrounded by positive “helping-people” like special educators, therapists, and paediatricians who help children with their daily challenges. We take pride in serving these children and their families with the services they directly seek, such as remedial education, intervention or counselling, and taking care of those other little things.
The undocumented moments that don’t get recorded on time sheets and assessments reports. Those moments where we are filling their cups with what they truly need. Those precious words, play and fun, encouragement, praise and reassurance, smiles, laughs and all those things that really work well to soothe their worried hearts. It fills me with pride and happiness for all the possibilities our collective actions hold for the children we serve.
If one mum, loaned to me for just a week, could bring so much value to my own life, just think… Every comment, word of praise and encouragement, every smile and anecdote carries immense possibilities for all the little children who might need it. How far can they go with love, acceptance and recognition?
