Dear World, My Mom’s Not Lucky—I Am!
You know, I’m tired of hearing people tell my mom, “You’re so lucky to have a son like Mitra. I wish my son were like him.” Whenever I hear this, I want to roll my eyes and say, “Oh, come on! You have no idea how much effort and sacrifice my mom has poured into shaping me into the person you’re praising.”
Here’s the truth: She’s not the one who got lucky. I am.
How I Came Into This World
My story didn’t start in the hospital. It began in heartbreak. My parents had been married for eight years, endured three devastating miscarriages, and heard more than their share of cruel whispers: “She’s barren. She’s cursed.” Society didn’t waste any time pointing fingers at my mom, as if my dad had no role in the process at all. (Classic, isn’t it?)
But my parents, stubborn believers in the higher power, didn’t give up. They studied garbhasanskaar, the ancient practice of prenatal education, and decided to lean into the wisdom of our ancestors. Finally, against all odds, I was conceived.
Even then, my mom didn’t pray for her safety or mine. No, she and my dad prayed to God with a condition: “If this child isn’t destined to serve the country and its culture, take it back. We’d rather remain childless.” (No pressure on me at all, right?)
They weren’t just praying for a baby; they were promising to raise a human. My mom took charge of the Brahma Tej—instilling the wisdom of a scholar—and my dad focused on the Kshatra Tej—building the courage of a warrior.
And thus began the journey that shaped me.
The Sacrifices No One Sees
Every person who compliments me unknowingly owes a debt to my mom. Her sacrifices are the invisible threads holding my life together.
Sacrifice #1: Prioritizing Presence Over Prosperity
When I was born, my dad’s business required frequent travel. But whenever he left, I’d cry and cling to my mom. So, she told my dad something few would dare to say: “It doesn’t matter how much money you make. Your first duty now is to your child.”
While other women dreamed of gold jewellery and lavish lifestyles, my mom bought her first mangalsutra a full 15 years after their marriage. All she wanted was for her son to have his dad around.
Sacrifice #2: Delaying Her Health
By the time I was five, my mom was grappling with fibroids, a condition causing her immense pain (and bleeding. She’d bleed for 20 days at a stretch, sometimes). The logical thing would’ve been to get surgery right away, but logic wasn’t what guided her. She delayed the surgery—not because she was scared, but because she was so focused on working with me that she didn't prioritise her health.
Sacrifice #3: Giving Up Her Dreams
At eight, some teachers labelled me a “slow learner” and “hyperactive”. (Honestly, I think they were the ones who lacked imagination.) My mom decided she wasn’t going to let those words define me. She pulled me out of school and homeschooled me. It meant sacrificing her time, space, and dreams—but she didn’t blink.
She taught me discipline, patience, and curiosity, all while battling her own emotional, physical, and mental struggles.
The Unsung Hero (I know, it sounds cliché… but still)
You see, my mom isn’t just the glue that holds our family together. She’s the anchor, the compass, and the storm shelter.
She’ll tell you she survived everything because of my dad’s love or because I needed her. But don’t be fooled. My mom is the tree that braves the storms of life—winter’s cold, summer’s heat, and monsoon’s fury—only to offer the sweetest fruits to those around her.
And she never asks for anything in return.
The Truth About Her “Luck”
Here’s the thing: when people call her “lucky,” I can’t help but laugh. Luck? Really?
It wasn’t luck that kept her standing through miscarriages, health issues, and societal judgment. It wasn’t luck that made her choose her child’s happiness over material comforts. It wasn’t luck that gave her the strength to endure battles that could break five people at once.
It was her grit, love, and unshakable belief in doing what’s right.
A Message for You
Maa, I don’t say this enough, but I owe you every part of who I am. You taught me how to think, how to feel, and how to fight for what matters. I’m proud to be your son, and I hope one day I can make you as proud of me as I am of you.
So, this New Year’s Eve, as the world celebrates the start of another year, I’ll be celebrating you, Maa. Thank you for being the foundation, the guiding light, and the heartbeat of my life. Happy birthday, Maa.
Remember, you’re not just a mom—you’re my mom.
