Dearest Aai,
After I became a mother, I often find myself wondering — who were you before you became Aai?What time did you wake up? What was your favorite way to spend a quiet afternoon? Did you cook for the joy of it, or because YOU wanted to eat something special? Did you laugh easily? Go out often? What kind of clothes made you feel most you?
These questions echo in my mind these days. Because somewhere, as I cradle my own child, I fear I’m slowly drifting away from the woman I once was. I adore this journey — it fills me with a kind of love I never knew existed. But the fear of losing myself in it… that’s something I still haven’t made peace with.
Motherhood is such a paradox. It makes you incredibly strong — and unbelievably vulnerable at the same time. After 7 hours of labor pain, months without proper sleep, and being on call 24/7 for a tiny, unpredictable human, I’ve come to realize: this is strength. Fierce, quiet, consuming strength. And yet, in the same breath, I’m scared. Scared when she closes her ears more often than usual. And I doubt myself constantly. Am I doing this right? Am I missing something? Is she meeting her milestones? Does she need more from me than I can see?
Her father seems so relaxed about everything, and I… I worry about everything.
The other day, she was trying hard to grab her toy. I had this intense urge to just place it in her hand. But I held back — because isn’t this what she’s meant to figure out? I waited — and eventually, she got it on her own. And in that small, quiet moment, I learned something too — that love is not always doing; it’s often waiting. It’s trusting her little hands, even when mine ache to help.
I think of you often during these moments. How many times must you have waited like this for us?How many quiet victories of ours were quietly scaffolded by your patience and silence?
Sometimes, Aai, motherhood feels like a mirror. In my daughter’s face, I see traces of my past… and glimpses of you. And I wonder how much of your own self you tucked away — your exhaustion, your wishes, your quiet fears — just so we could flourish. There’s so much I never asked you. So much I didn’t see. But now, I’m beginning to understand.
I may not mother exactly the way you did — our lives are different, our times have changed. But your tenderness is etched in me. Your steadiness, your faith, your quiet strength — they’ve become the rhythm beneath my every day. Certainly, you’ll be receiving more calls from me than ever before. Be ready for it.
Thank you, Aai —
For all that you gave.
For all that you withheld.
For what you said, and for what you carried silently.
I hope I can be even half the mother you’ve been. And I promise I will do anything and everything for you.
The other day, I had this intense, overwhelming feeling when I saw you exhausted. I know the pain you’ve been through — or I should say, the pain you’re still going through. Sometimes, I feel helpless sitting thousands of kilometers away from you. I wish you’d worry less about us. Ah — now I know, that’s easier said than done.
Still one request — please think of yourself a little more. We’re grown now. Try to worry less about us, and never about the world. You are enough. You are the world to us. Pappa needs you — even if his ego doesn’t always let him say so. Ignore that. We love you.
– Deepa
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Chai and Chatter Chronicles 