Mother

 Yesterday my mom turned 29. Again. She’s been 29 ever since I could comprehend the concept of age and timelessness.

Mom is the youngest person I know. Full of fun and verve and a zest for life, unparalleled by most.

Growing up, a pimply, painfully tongue-tied teenager, I used to marvel at the ease with which she would fall into conversation with any passing stranger. On our long train journeys across the length and width of India ( dad was in the Air Force, and thus we relocated every couple of years), I’d spend hours immersed in Louis L’Amour and J.T. Edson , while mom got to know the life stories of everyone travelling in the same compartment as us. My effervescent, extroverted mom, was a far cry from my diffident and timid self.

In an India of the 70s and 80s where most dreamt in black and white, mom’s were extravagant, technicolour fantasies! But fantasies that she converted to reality! In an era of penny-pinching and parsimony, mom threw us theme parties. A Pirate party for my brother, a Nursery Rhyme party for my baby sister, a Cinderella party for my 9th birthday! With pirate ship and a fairytale castle cake – the cynosure of all eyes. Handmade invitation cards, and games to go with the theme! Truly a woman ahead of her time.

The passing away of my brother and the passage of time have slowed her down, but not robbed her of her élan. Mom is the brightest star in the firmament of our lives.

One of a kind. Inimitable. Extraordinary.