When I was a young child, around five or six years old, being the middle child often made me crave love and attention. That need, however, was never left unfulfilled—because my mother wrapped me in her love in ways that felt quiet, constant, and real.
I spent much of my childhood helping her with household work. Somehow, even at that age, I wished I could free her from the weight of it all. I wanted her to rest, to breathe, to live without tiredness. When the work was done, she would sit in the corridor with her neighbour friends, holding a cup of tea. Whenever she smiled in those moments, it filled me with a happiness I still can’t fully put into words.
There were days when I even took leave from school simply because there was too much work at home. I would think—there are so many clothes to wash, how will my mother manage all this alone? She will get exhausted.
So I stayed back to help her. Yet, by her blessings, none of this ever affected my studies. I still ranked first or second in my class. The peace I felt while working beside her back then is something I have never found again in adulthood, no matter what I do.
When our housework finished before everyone else’s—especially during cleaning days—my mother would become free early. She would sit comfortably on a chair in the balcony, calmly sipping her tea, and smiling at her neighbours. In her Garhwali words, she would say lovingly,
“Rakhi ki maa, timñ apnu gharu ko kaam kari liyā ?”– (Rakhi’s mother, have you finished your household work?)
The sense of calm on her face in those moments is something I cannot explain. And when someone asked her, “Kiran’s mother, how did you finish your work so quickly?”
She would proudly reply,
“Yes, my Dolly did all the work.”
The words “meri dolly” (my dolly)—spoken by her—made me feel so deeply loved, as if someone had gathered all the affection in the world and given it to me at once.
I was always an emotional child, sensitive to people’s feelings, able to sense emotions and vibes easily. When I looked at my mother, I saw no greed in her heart—not for possessions, not for wealth. She owned no jewellery, wore no expensive clothes, had no savings. Yet the peace and smile that lived on her face felt like her greatest ornament. That happiness was her true wealth.
She believed deeply in giving. She used to say, “I thank God that my hands are always above—able to give to others, able to help those in need.”
Her thoughts inspired me more than she ever knew.
Whenever life presented her with problems, she handled them on her own. She was never afraid of taking risks. She trusted herself completely—believing that the decisions she made were right. And most of the time, they were.
If I were asked who my role model was during my childhood, my answer would be simple.
It was my mother.
And it still is.
I love her—always.
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Lavenderosy 