Mine, in particular.
My mum has this way of making a person feel right at home when she meets them for the first time. Whenever I’m with her, I just step back and watch her work her magic. It’s incredible how she gels with almost everyone she meets, from any walk of life, and when I was younger I remember wondering why we kept on bumping into her long lost friends because they turned up everywhere we went! It was only later I discovered they were just people she’d talk to while she went about her daily business. It’s never a put-on show; it was something that came naturally to her. She genuinely likes people. One thing I’ve always loved from watching her all these years is that she isn’t the type to blow her own trumpet or the type who judges a person. You know those types, the ones who start drawing comparisons whenever they meet people, boasting about their children’s accomplishments, while nosily inquiring on other people’s children to silently gauge where the parents stand. I despise that, and I think I’ve seen enough of it. Children shouldn’t have to bear that kind of burden, but I digress.
I was talking about my mother.
She has this habit of exchanging cooking tips with the ladies at the pasar every weekend. One moment she’s at a stall, going through the laid-out vegetable leaves. I turn my back and the next thing I know she’s chatting with whoever’s standing next to her while pointing out the ingredients for a good dish. She’s also got this way of changing her accent when she talks to the traders. Johorean, Penangite, Perakian, she just switches on and off effortlessly, and throws in a few jokes for kicks. Even the sulkiest traders manage a small smile by the time the transaction is over (and might I add are more willing to give a little discount, haha).
The other day was another example.
We stopped by an eating place for lunch before we were to go grocery-shopping. A foreign young man walked up to take our orders. While browsing through the menu, Ummi suddenly looked up at him and asked him something in what I guessed was Bangladeshi. He looked completely taken aback before answering. He then spoke back in his language and she answered him, smiling. I just stared at my mum, sitting there all nice and proper, speaking bits and pieces of Bangladeshi to this lad who wasn’t even my brother’s age yet (as I later found out) and looking like it was the most perfectly normal thing to do. She was chatting to him like he was her friend’s son.
(My mum studied in Bangladesh for a few months before she was sent to Belgium on scholarship; that’s where she learnt the language.)
The immediate change in the guy was so obvious, it was amazing anyone could transform that quick. From a polite waiter patiently taking our orders, he became so friendly, enthusiastic and all eager to help that I felt like we were star customers who regularly gave fat tips. I’ve never seen anything like it. His whole face just lit up when he heard his language spoken by this very Malay lady, that he was actually giggling. His posture changed too; he straightened up, practically bouncing on the balls of his toes and I thought he was pretty close to doing a piroette right there across the floor. He kept on asking “mana tau, mana tau?” to my mum, laughing, shaking his head.
I know my description sounds ridiculous, but I’m not exaggerating. I guess that’s how much difference you can bring to a person, and only just by talking to him and treating him like an individual instead of some faceless moving thing. I’ve mentioned this before, on the treatment of taxi drivers. These are people too. We can maintain a business-like relationship and still be human at the same time. Take this waiter for example. He’s very young, most likely from a poor background (since who in their right mind would leave their homes and families behind to work in another country full of strangers) and serving people who aren’t familiar with his language and culture. Put yourself in his shoes, working day in, day out in an unfamiliar place for unfamiliar faces, and suddenly one day, out of the blue, one of them addresses you in your language and asks you something about your homeland. In that instant, you are recognised as a person and your identity is acknowledged. Sometimes it’s nothing, other times it can mean the world.
And that’s my mother for you. That’s what she does, that’s who she is. Frankly speaking, there are times I wonder what it’s like to be her. To never be awkward, to always fit in with people and not feel out of place. It must’ve taken years of experience and practice, but then again, it could just be another gift she has.
So to the woman of grace and compassion, and love and sacrifice, today I wish her the happiest of a birthday anyone can wish for. There’s a line from Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day that’s very fitting for my mother.
“It must be extraordinary, being you.”
Without a doubt.
July 16th 2009
