A Missed Train, and Amma sentiment

 A Missed Train, and  Amma sentiment

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In 2022, we were going to drop our daughter Preesha off at college and help secure her first day of college with a parent orientation meeting the next day, which was mandatory for parents to attend.

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It was meant to be a simple journey: a flight from Siliguri to Hyderabad and then a train to Aurangabad. She had a lot of luggage, and there was just a five-hour gap between the flight landing and our train departure.

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My husband's mother lives in Hyderabad, so he insisted, "Let's take Mom's blessings before we continue our journey to Aurangabad." He stressed that Preesha is going to college for the first time—she must go with her grandmother's blessings.

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I hesitated. "We only have five hours. The station is two hours away from the airport. If we go home, mom will  cook, we'll eat, and time will slip away."

 But being the emotional, optimistic man that he is—someone who lives in the moment and holds on to family sentiments—I knew I wouldn't win that debate, so I agreed. 

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The series of delays started almost immediately. Our luggage took forever to come through at the belt. 

The driver took a wrong turn as we neared the house. 

We lost about 50 precious minutes in all this. 

Still, we reached the house, where Mom had a meal ready. Preesha's favourite pastries arrived, lovingly brought by her Atta. We ate, took blessings, and left within an hour.

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But Hyderabad had other plans. The traffic was nightmarish. Just 3 km from Secunderabad station, I suggested my husband and daughter get down and take an auto. "Let's not risk missing the train," I said. 

But he refused. “Saath mein chalte hai,” he said. "We'll make it on time."

The driver gave us false hope that we would arrive on time. But the traffic was getting thicker every minute.

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We reached the station just as the train began to move. I thrust the documents bag into my daughter's hands and begged them to run. I returned to unload the bags and hired a collie to tow the luggage to the platform.

They rushed ahead of me, but the train pulled away. 

Another family who missed the train, their son on board, pulled the emergency chain. The train halted, and both managed to board with another set of parents. I watched from a distance, relieved.

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That's when the coolie offered to help me cross the tracks (as the train was on platform number 3)—the only way to catch the train. We jumped into the well between the platforms, hauled six giant bags, climbed up the other side—and I tried to run. But after 50 steps, I knew I wouldn't make it. My husband, a man of rules, would never pull the chain again. I gave up.

But I was grateful. Preesha would reach college with one parent on time for her orientation the next morning.

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Then came the angry phone call from the husband. "Why didn't you come? We waited!"

 I snapped, "Because of your AMMMAA sentiment, we missed the train!"

 Voices rose. We both gave each other earfully—until Preesha took the phone and said, "Mom, it's okay. Let's think of what to do next."

That one sentence brought us back to calm.

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I bought a general compartment ticket for the next train from Secundrabad to Aurangabad and waited for the clock to tick to 8 p.m. 

My husband called influential friends to get me a berth on the next train. 

By the intervention of a well-placed good friend, I secured a seat in the Second AC coach. With the help of fellow passengers, I loaded all the bags into the coach and tucked them away under the seats.

My sister-in-law had packed custard apples, and that bag was with me. I ate them on the train while kind co-passengers offered me food from their packed dinner boxes. I wasn't really hungry, so I refused the offer.

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Meanwhile, the packed food from my mother-in-law went with Preesha and her dad.

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We finally reunited at Aurangabad station the next morning. Their train hit the station ahead of mine. 

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Preesha reported to college the next morning, and despite all the drama, it was a successful journey. We all made it on time for the meeting.

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I was telling this story to my son recently, and I pointed out how emotional their father is and how he put all of us through so much stress just to visit his mother, whom he had met just the previous month. I even mentioned how I had to jump into a platform well and take a huge risk so Preesha could attend college in time on the first day.

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Their response stopped me cold.

I thought they would empathize with the hardships I was put through that evening.

They said, "Mom, if we were passing through Siliguri, and you were there, we wouldn't leave without meeting you, come what may." What Dad did is correct!

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That's when I went silent because they were right.

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Their father did this out of love and respect for his mother. 

She raised him well; maybe my children have inherited her values and sanskaras.

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 Her son made my life beautiful; no gratitude will ever be enough.

As I watch my son grow, I understand her journey as a mother and a mother-in-law. At the time, I may have been hurt by some of her words and actions, but now, at 49, I see them differently.

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I couldn't do much for my mother before I lost her, but I should do everything my husband wants to do to make his mom happy.

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 To everyone who still has their mother, with them, you are among the lucky ones. 

And to every mom and mom-like figure out there: 

Happy Mother's Day. You are seen. You are loved. You are cherished.