As she swings her arms from side to side, walking, exercising, she has a certain smile on her face that tells me she is content in her world.AdvertisementShe is oblivious to my presence, except when I scold her and tell her not to exercise in the heat outside.I know she doesn’t like it when I talk to her like that. She defends herself, telling me that she was exercising in the shade. When I insist, she goes inside the house. However, the minute I turn to leave, she is back outside again.Mother, as I know her, is finally her own person, but she is not the person I knew. I knew her as the person whose sari pallu I would hold on to. Never letting go, lest I lose my way. And she would never shrug me off, not once did she pull away.AdvertisementShe belongs to the generation in the Midnight’s Children. Since my grandmother had no recollection of her birthday, August 15, 1947, was her unofficial date of birth.My grandfather was very keen that she train to be a doctor. Even while studying in a school in rural Haryana, he would encourage her to write in English. She struggled through junior college and almost did not make it. But as I said, she was not one to let go.She tried again and got through medical college in Delhi. The city changed her tremendously. Most importantly, she learnt to be her own person, the one I knew.A bout of smallpox in childhood had left its scars on her face. This was not considered a feature suitable while seeking a matrimonial alliance. But Mother didn’t care. In fact, she ended up marrying quite “a catch”, a foreign-returned doctor with an FRCS (Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons) degree.But Mother didn’t let that overwhelm her. In a family full of powerful men, she held her own. She would travel by any means possible to reach the hospital. She would cook fantastic tiffins for us every day, attend all functions and parent-teacher meetings. A super mom you might say. But that’s not the person I knew.For me the person she was, was the one who stood by her children in the toughest of times. When making career choices, when choosing spouses, when moving to a new country, Mother was the one defending us, arguing on our behalf and supporting us.Mother, who fasts every Monday, prays every day and remembers God in all her endeavours, had the ability to rise beyond all narrow-mindedness and give her children all the freedom that they needed to find themselves. Her passion to be a good professional meant that she worked long hours. It was a hard life, but Mother took it all in, even after she retired.She belongs to a generation where women struggled to gain an identity while constantly pushing back against patriarchal structures. How did you do it, Mother? Can I do it again like you did it? Can I be the Mother I knew? But I don’t know whom to ask now.most readThe Mother I know is gently pulling back, is happier on her own, the way we would all like to be. She forgets how to cook dishes and the complicated daily routines exhaust her. She asks me to teach her how to cook. Kheer, that simplest of desserts, is a mystery to her. As I worry and get anxious about her and wonder about how she will be, she calls out my name and hands me a cup of tea. I know then that she will be fine. The Mother I knew is the Mother I know.The writer is a Professor, Motilal Nehru College, University of DelhiNational Editor Shalini Langer curates the fortnightly ‘She Said’ column