I want to travel with you — just you. I want to explore a new place alongside the woman who raised me, who changed my diapers, who put up with my teenaged angst, and my rebellious college years. I want to see my favorite cities with the lady who taught me essential life lessons, like look both ways before crossing the street, and how to use a glue gun, that it’s not worth sleeping with every guy you meet, and that the most important thing in the world is to help others.
I want you to stop dropping me off at the airport for some trip I’m about to take, and start becoming my seatmate.
When Amma heard that I wasn’t married, she began calling me daughter, which she pronounced doughter. And she insisted that I call her Amma, meaning “Mommy.” She also took it upon herself to make sure I was well fed, shoving food into my mouth whenever I opened it. If I opened my mouth to speak, which happens a lot, Amma would shove half a banana in my mouth.
"As the mother of a friend remarked,
When my daughter married out of caste, it was a difficult transition for me. But, seeing how happy she is, I learned to view my son-in-law as an individual as opposed to that guy who wasn’t from my community. This has helped me in breaking a lot of mental barriers when it came to people in general.
This is a far cry from that time some years ago when getting approval from parents and family members for love marriages was difficult. Unless one was lucky, discussions, ultimatums, fights, banishment from the family were all a part of the saga, and I personally know couples that ran away from home to get married.
Not so much any more.”
—excerpted from How ‘love marriages’ break social barriers in India