Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The Tradition of Calling Mom

Note: The following blog post has been contributed by Rona Osmani Bimar, my sister, sharing her story on family love and why its important to stay in touch.



Today I reflect on my relationship with my Mohr Jana. This reflection was incited after I finished talking to my sister Zarena about how much I love Mohr (Mom in Pashtu).

It was the year Babo (my grandmother) passed away, a year I never committed to memory (and don’t think I will). One day, while I sat atop my bed, I called Babo. It was two weeks before she left this world and I sat there talking to her sobbing and saying ‘I have been a bad granddaughter because I haven’t seen you for so long’. At that time I worked seven days a week and spent my free time studying for medical school entrance exam. In short, my life at the time was very busy and left me with little to no time for family. One night I just felt miserable and remember just longing for my Babo. Something possessed me late that night because I just could not stop sobbing. As I listened to Babo’s voice on the other end reassuring me that I am a good granddaughter and not to worry she continued on telling me about her day. In between our conversation we both would laugh hysterically and without her knowing I would be sobbing at the same time wishing she could live with me and wishing I could be there laying on her belly like old times.  I reflect back and am more at peace with my mistakes of not spending more time with her. I found this peace after Babo’s passing. I promised myself that no matter what happens in life I will wake up and call Mohr every morning even if we have nothing to talk about. And so it started—The Tradition.

My seven day a week work schedule continued and my life became even more preoccupied with extracurricular at work but I remained vigilant about my phone calls to Mohr. I remember one day being so tired that I was dragging my sentences and feeling so listless. I called Mohr with little in me and started the conversation with our usual ‘Salaam Mohr sunga yai sha yai’ (Hi Mom how are you, well?) she would respond back with the same question as usual ‘Za shayum tha sunga yai shaya?’ (I am well, how are you?). Somehow I mustered enough energy to become a total mischief by continuing the chain of the SAME question. I wanted to see for how long she would go and much to my surprise she continued without a flinch of annoyance at the redundancy. I was naturally in awe! It was then when I realized it’s not about the redundancy. My Mohr really wants to know if I am well.  Being the emotional person that I am, I cried after I hung up and prayed to God for the blessings. I am so happy to have a loving Mom. 

I carry on to this day with my phone calls and Mohr has become so use to me that on days that I don’t call her she panics. I use to think she is the biggest worry wart but after becoming a Mom I realize there is NO SUCH THING! Mom’s worry and that’s purely instinctual. Now I have upgraded to physically being present and hugging Mohr every chance I get because this world is finite and I want to live to the fullest enjoying those I love.

My relationship with Mohr I think became closer than ever after Babo left me. I missed not having Mohr as an integral part of my life partly because she was always so busy with family events and house chores. Looking back, I think Mohr not being ‘present’ in her children’s life was purely cultural. She did just as she saw and therefore never thought anything less of it. As a mother she did so much in the way of passing down traditions, etiquette, and hardwork (pertaining to the house). I remember in every house we lived things were always so neat and clean. She spent numerous hours on cleaning and cooking because that was her way of saying how much she loved us.  I learned valuable lessons from that upbringing and it is just another blessing to know she is MY MOHRAKA!

My phone calls continue to this day and will continue. I realize these phone calls are as vital as remembering to drink water. So much satisfaction is attained at the end of each conversation. I take a deep breath and remember just how wonderful life is to have your Mohraka always waiting at the other end genuinely concerned about your wellness. On that note I will sign off and give Mohr another ring and tell her how much I love her and that I am very well and happy! After all, all Moms’ just want their kids to be happy….. 

2 comments:

  1. So thoughtful of you to write about your daily tradition of calling mom. Your such a good daughter and were always an amazing grand-daughter. I remember you always making our Babo laugh with your quirky ways and comments. I love our Mohr, she is an amazing woman (so strong, courageous and genuine). If anything I have learned from her is patience and her constant lesson around forgiveness. She says, "kin, inaad and Zaad, Iman da baina wry" (Malice, Jealousy and Stubbornness will kill your faith). Her lessons constantly lead to 'never have hate in the heart and you shall achieve peace and love but those who exploit are just Jahils (ignorant of religious teachings)'. Her heart is pure and clear like a night sky and her words are like bright shining stars...we are blessed sister!

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  2. Blessed in more ways than one. I re-read this entry and wonder how Mohr would feel if I share this with her. I imagine her fingers circling her mouth in confusion and surprise. I can already hear her saying "Yuuu" what are you advertising to the world. As you know our mom grew up very concerned about what others thought and that concern taught me how important it is to carry yourself with pouis, humility, and respect. Mohr is so wonderful because her Mohr was so wonderful. I miss Babo more and more each day. I feel her precense through her giggles that resonante in my mind during random moments throughout the day. When I am with Mohr I have these moments of profound laughter! They are truly unmatched and I love building these memories. I realize as I get older that our elders have a meaninful place in our lives and we should hone the histories they pass along.

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