hardy mums and their daughters

I've been thinking a lot about mothers and daughters lately...especially after my roommate's mom came into town. This Jewish mazza brought supplies: chocolate babka, challah, fruits, matzo ball soup... a desperate attempt to find some coherency in a world she could not control. E was having ankle surgery, there was nothing her mother could do about it.

I had met Jewish mothers before. In fact I was born to one. My mom fits all the stereotypes you can imagine-- overbearing, with major control issues, emotionally needy, does a fine job of making her daughters feel guilty, and is always making sure her children are fed twice over, always thinking of her children before herself, the martyr she is. " The kind of woman who will always give you her jacket even though her slight frame can tolerate the cold less well than you can.

I can't say D's mom is quite the "Jewish/Indian" mom mine is. I mean of course, she will always give you her jacket...but she believes in calorie restriction, a metaphor for her reservedness. She loves D dearly, and always weeps when they part, and often sends him health cookies and care packages by mail...she is a wonderful mother no doubt. But she doesn't hang on to him with the same kind of desperation, and I never got that same feeling that her children are her life. Is it the immigrant woman's story? Are we carrying a history of strife and struggle that makes our mothers cling on ferverently, anxious that the bough will break at any second?

D's mom is Canadian. There isn't quite the same history in that peaceful country....

on a different note, my dearest Vinita is about to become a mother herself...to a baby boy. I am excited to wait and see how the next generation will emerge...

A New Beginning

Here it is my new blog. I am keeping the old, in tradition: indianrock.diaryland.com

there are a few repeats, as I am writing this entry November 22nd, the day I started this new blog. And for the sake of continuity I pasted some old entries here. But what is time anyway, but relative? A moment of silence for the old AE....