Now I Understand
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It wasn't until I had children of my own that I learned what my mom had meant by "fair is not equal".
I remember a journal entry I wrote when I was 9. "Today Mom hugged my brother and she didn't hug me." My mom was always at the receiving end of my accusations that she favored my brother, 14 months younger, over me. When I was growing up, many of the things my mother did made no sense to me.For instance, she always encouraged my shy younger brother to sing Hindi songs in public even though I was a better singer. When I asked her why, she said, "Because he needs to sing in public more than you do." She sent me — a boisterous tomboy — to an expensive convent school in an attempt to turn me into a "lady," while my brother attended a free state school. (Most of my parents' friends did the opposite: The son got the better education while the daughter was the also-ran.) She sent my brother to a karate course that I fancied because "we can't afford to send you both, and he needs it more than you do." My brother and I frequently questioned her choices and her unfairness. Her exasperated response? "Being fair does not mean being equal. It means making allowances for the differences between your personalities." Now that I'm the mother of two very different individuals, I totally get it.
When I was a teenager, she once told me (in a fit of anger, since I had come home late from a party) that she never wanted me to be fettered by the conservative conventions that prevented her from getting an education or from going out without a male escort by her side. She wanted me to be independent and free. But that didn't mean that I could abuse my freedom and show up at midnight without even a phone call. And then she gave me a quick slap. At the time I was shocked. Now, I understand what might drive a mother to that point.
With my children, however, Mom is a complete softy, as grandparents are known to be. When I see my mother with them, I can't get over how remarkably broad-minded she is, given that she was raised in an orthodox Brahmin family in a tiny South Indian village. She encourages my girls to reach for the stars while keeping their feet planted firmly on the ground. I love watching my sari-clad mom and my 3-year-old play with Lego blocks. "You are such a good builder," Mom says. "Maybe you'll build the next Empire State Building." She and my 8-year-old giggle over Bollywood movies and Hilary Du with equal gusto. Weaned on Mary-Kate and Ashley, Ranju wants to be a fashion designer. My mother wants her to be an astronaut. "Go to the moon," she says. Then, invoking traditional Indian beliefs, she adds, "And sprinkle my ashes there."
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