When I think of strength, grace, and unwavering love, I think of my mother
Growing up, I used to envy the kids whose moms were waiting at home with snacks and warm hugs after school. My mom, on the other hand, would leave early in the morning, dressed in her work attire, her mind already racing through meetings, responsibilities, and the challenges of a high-pressure job. I didn’t understand it then. I just wanted her home.
But as the years went by, I began to understand that my mother wasn’t absent she was everywhere, in every way that mattered.
She was there in the perfectly packed tiffin boxes. She was there in the quiet discipline of our morning routines. She was there in the evenings, helping us with homework after a long day at work. She was there on weekends, making sure our traditions, festivals, and birthdays were celebrated with joy and warmth. She may not have picked us up from school every day, but she picked us up in every way that counted emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
As I grew older and started to understand words like independence, empowerment, and resilience, I realized I had the perfect role model right at home. My mother showed me that being a woman doesn't mean choosing between career and family it means embracing both with courage and commitment.
She managed tight project deadlines while never missing a school PTM or a family celebration. She taught us how to chase dreams, not just through her advice, but through her own relentless pursuit of excellence both at work and at home.
But more than anything, she gave us time. Not always in hours or minutes, but in energy, attention, and love. In a world that constantly demands more from women, she gave more than what was asked and never once complained.
And she gave us something even rarer culture. She made sure we were deeply rooted in who we are. She introduced us to Marathi literature, poetry, and theater not just as passive observers, but as passionate participants. She took us to every play in town, read poems to us, introduced us to the works of Kusumagraj, Pu La Deshpande, Ba Bha Borkar, and others. She brought alive the stories of Shivaji Maharaj and Vinayak Damodar Savarkar in our home, not through textbooks but through love, pride, and storytelling. She didn’t just mother me she made me fall in love with my mother tongue, with my motherland.
Today, when I see peers who were never introduced to this treasure trove, I feel incredibly lucky. My mother didn’t just raise me she rooted me. In language, in heritage, in identity. And I carry that with me wherever I go.
She made us strong, not by shielding us from life, but by showing us how to face it head-on. She raised us with values, with purpose, and with a belief in ourselves that has become the foundation of who we are. Her faith in us was unshakable, even when our own wavered.
Today, on Mother’s Day, I don’t just celebrate the mother who raised me I celebrate the woman who shaped me. The one who quietly moved mountains while making it look effortless. The one who never asked for recognition, but deserves every ounce of it.
Mom, thank you for being our strength. For showing us that leadership begins at home. For proving that success doesn’t come at the cost of love. For teaching us that language is not just words, but a lifeline to who we are. And for being the heart, soul, and spine of our family.
Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who taught us how to stand tall, speak kindly, and live fully with pride in our roots and love in our hearts.
We love you, endlessly.
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