My mother was thirty-four years old when I was born. I was the fourth out of five children that were born to my mother and my mum had to put her life at stake so that I could be born.

           When I was born, my mother was suffering from severe malignant malaria and the doctors feared that if I were allowed to be born, my mother would be faced with dire consequences. Not just that, I would be a physically disabled child because of all the quinine injections that my mother had had to take.

However, when I came screaming into the world, everyone was relieved and happy. Two years later, my sister was born-and she was going to be the youngest of ma’s five children.

 Today, if we jokingly ask her who she loves the most of among her five children, she always says, “My five children are like my five fingers-I can’t really differentiate.”

Growing up, I was completely in awe of my mother-she was stunningly pretty. I could see why Baba had fallen in love with her. With her long tresses of gorgeous black her, her bright cotton sarees in pastel shades and her sparkling white teeth, she could have given any model a run for her money.

Not just that, the grace and dignity with which she carried herself was impeccable. Her manners were polite and she exuded warmth all the time. Animals loved her and all my friends adored her.

To me, she was not just my mother-she was a beautiful princess from a fairy story.

Sometimes, Ma and Baba would go out for parties in the evening. I would look at Ma, wide-eyed in wonder as she put on her pearl-drops.

When she would put me to sleep, she would often sing Rabindra Sangeet for me or even hum a lullaby. If I didn’t go to sleep, she would tell me that she would call up “Wee Willie Winky”and he would come and kidnap me. Mortified, I would try and fall asleep as quickly as possible.

When I was about six, I got my tooth pulled out. It hurt like mad and my mother told me that if I put my tooth under my pillow, a tooth fairy would come and give me presents.

When I woke up at midnight, I saw a beautiful brown teddy bear under my pillow. I asked my mother whether she had seen the tooth fairy. “Oh yes,” she said “She flew in while you were sleeping”

After a plethora of questions, I went to sleep.

In retrospect, I wonder, how could ma have done that? How could she have listened to my stupid, nonsensical questions and put up with it? And yet, she answered every question I asked without fail.

When I was twelve, she gave me a book called “Growing Up: It’s A Girl Thing”. It helped me to understand my body better and to know how to accept the changes that were happening to me, both physically and emotionally. I loved my mother very much and couldn’t even bear the thought of living without her.

I don’t know why things happen the way they do, but I guess that’s what life is all about-they’re about challenges, and how you deal with them is up to you.

I was in fifth grade at the time and I came back home to see my father sitting with a gaunt expression on his face. My mum looked at me and said, “Rhea, I have to speak to you. Don’t be scared. Everything is going to be alright.”Then she told me that a tumour had been detected in her body and the doctors feared that it was malignant. I was shocked.

I cannot even begin to describe how I felt at that moment. I felt like I was completely numb. The words that my father and my siblings were speaking seemed like a low buzzing sound to me. My brother Rudra called me aside and told me that he had to speak to me separately. Puzzled, I followed him upstairs and he shut the door behind him. Then he hugged me and together, we cried.

Later, we wiped away our tears and went downstairs. We weren’t going to let Ma feel upset.

Three weeks later, ma was admitted into the hospital.Anxiously, we waited outside the operation theatre. “Is she going to be ok?”We asked the doctors nervously. “We can’t tell right now, “they said sympathetically.

 A week later we found out that the tumour was not malignant. I can’t thank god enough for making sure that ma is safe and happy.

I don’t tell my mother how much I love her and this is probably the first time I have ever talked about my mother. I even have bitter squabbles with her and that makes her feel really upset. But the first time I came close to losing her, I realised how much she meant to me and how dependent I am on her. I love you ma and you don’t know how much you mean to me. And just so my dad doesn’t feel bad about being left out, I love you too Baba.

Reeti Roy