Raised By Magic, and Those Who Create It Effortlessly (Part 2)

Mami 

Vibrant. Chirpy. Somehow everything to everyone all the time. A celebration in herself. Beautiful.

What a funny relationship. To have a second mother since you were four. To never let it go.

She looked like rich wine when she came home for the first time, as a bride to my mama, and since 2007 I have never left her side. 

I didn’t know you could be so full of mischief even after you grew up and took over the responsibilities of everyone around you, while somehow also taking the best care of yourself.

She sang me lullabies, and put me to sleep in her lap. 

I’m her first child, she still says. 

Reenu Mami taught me fun, love, laughter, and all of the richness that goes into a simple life in a simple city in Rajasthan. I live in Mumbai, but I love Kota more. All the love in the world finds itself in the air of the city – there is something beautiful about intimacy, being best friends with your neighbors and going out for a Kachauri every second day. She made me love every bit of the city, and every bit of her. 

Our relationship has surprisingly not changed much since I was four. We still giggle at dumb jokes we make for each other, we still make strange but absolutely delicious recipes while all I do is sit on the kitchen platform, with my legs swaying, and we’re still the only people pushing for adventure parks instead of resort vacations. 

Two peas in a pod, no blood relation whatsoever.

Mami and bhaanji.

Dadi

Comforting. Sweet. No, literally, her voice is sugar. And so are her words. Goddess Annapoorna. Bright. Calming. Beautiful.

I cannot write about my dadi. Not because I don’t want to, but because I literally can’t. No words could ever do justice to her.

She is as sweet as the sweets she cooks so passionately and feeds me forcefully – the only time I tend to be a little scared of her. And she’s the first place I ever sought comfort in my life. When mom and dad would be out for work, I would find myself playing juju ke paamu ke, a game which I am convinced my family invented. She would convince my grand dad to get me lollipops when he came back from work, and adorn me with nicknames so full of love. 

She is the first person who throws her hands in joy when I go back home after a long semester at college, the first person who asks me about my health, and if I am happy and have a full stomach.

Of course she doesn’t believe me when I tell her I have eaten. And there is a version of my favorite food waiting for me every single meal, every day. 

Everyday I am glad she doesn’t believe me. 

I would be furious with anyone else who called me those nicknames. They belong just to her and me. 

Nani

Carefree. Powerful. Faithful. Resourceful. People’s favorite. She is quite literally the life of the party. Beautiful.

I understand how my mother is because I understand my nani. 

She is such a force of nature, always in everyone’s eyes, adored by her friends and her family. Always so full of joy, so much brightness. 

She’s taught me boldness. She dances her heart out at every kirtan, and sometimes even on bollywood songs when we’re blasting it on speakers. She isn’t afraid to stand her ground, she never lets someone take advantage of her. Her advice is priceless and her jokes are hilarious (only to me).

I believe in a higher power so effortlessly because I have lived with her and seen her reverence. 

She has cultured me with stories of Krishna and his gopis, Shrinathji and multiple replays of Mahabharata and Ramayana. 

I know faith, I know tradition, I know unconditional love because I know my nani.

• "Endless Love"
• girlhood
• womanhood