I have a round-about way of expressing emotions. I either state them so bluntly no one takes them seriously or I act out by repeatedly wheedling at the object of my affection or agitation. I did the latter with my mother yesterday. I was lamenting the lack of time she spent during the day with me and the rest of the family. I jokingly commented she didn't love me enough, and didn't think about me enough. I guess it really hurt her. She popped up today with an adorable earring rack--she knows me too well--and a story.
It sounds sweeter in Punjabi to me, but I can't write in the language so I'll paraphrase in English.
Iron is heated in a forge and shaped by fire. When the iron hammer hits it, the iron clangs loudly. Gold is heated and shaped in the same way with an iron hammer, but with a softer sound. The shaped gold asks the iron, 'Why do you cry so loudly?' Because the gold keeps his pain to himself. The iron tells him, 'When others strike you it does not hurt so much, but when your own attack you the pain is unbearable.'
This past Sunday was the greeting card companies' mid-year event: Mother's Day.
Of course you love your mom every day, but on this special Sunday in May you show it! With expensive jewelery, fancy appliances, bouquets of roses, or something not so rough on your wallet like breakfast in bed and even home made gift cards.
Indian moms are different, and my mommy definitely fits the mold. She doesn't expect ANYTHING on Mother's Day, and we've got a long history of living up to that expectation. I'd be surprised if she actually remembered that such a day existed. And the only way that would happen is if Hallmark had infiltrated the Indian channels on the dish (which would be a tragedy).
Mom hasn't worn the D&B purse we got her for last mother's day, and she had no idea what to do with the jewelery set Dad got her one year. She insisted that she would rather have a set of dishes, or a brand spanking new kitchen appliance. This strikes at the heart of two Indian traits, practicality and frugality. Or maybe you could roll all that into one trait, namely being cheap.
Indians can find a use for any object that comes their way. Second-hand, ragged sofa? That's OK, sew some new seat covers and it's perfect for the make-shift living room in the garage. Desis are masters of re-purposing and conservation. It makes sense to not waste all that hard-earned money on something you could get for next to nothing or make for yourself. On the other hand, old jam jars and Tupperware last for years, piling up in shelves and in the back of dusty cabinets in the all-purpose abyss known as the garage. Said jars will sit there for years on end, unused until some tragic accident occurs. Likely lost in a hasty escape upon the arrival of INS/IRS officers.
It's OK to laugh at that last part. My parents are tax-paying Americans.
So, what did I get such a wonderful woman for Mother's day? A flower ornament I made out of sticky notes. When all else fails, origami is the way to go. Damn Asians have the answer to everything.
I leave you with a clip of one of my favorite Indians. No introduction necessary.
The Basics:
1) Tell Mom you love her.
2) Clear junk out in the middle of the night. Then throw it away in the neighbor's trash can. The neighbor TWO houses down.
3) Learn how to wipe your own ass. Best gift anyone can ever give.
