13 years after her death, my mother continues to give me money – “the gift that keeps on giving”

I frantically rummaged through my bag. The seller looked at me impatiently, as if saying: others have been waiting, so could you please hurry up and complete your purchase? My eyes filled with tears when I realized that I was just a few rupees short of buying this beautiful colorful saree.

My mother and I had been looking at him for a week while he was decorating a mannequin in a store window. We admired it as we walked past it every day, admiring the combination of colors. The shadows were everything we liked.

This gorgeous saree came in brown, rust, yellow and orange colors. The silk fabric draped so well that the folds flowed like poetry. Together we imagined what we would look like.

We shared our five-meter wonders. We were arguing about the color of the blouse to go with it. Mom insisted on wearing brown and I wanted to cut off part of the blouse from the saree and make it into a sleeveless, low-cut blouse.

For this purpose, some sarees were supplied with additional material. So, on that too-sunny day in 1983, when my classes at the school where we both worked ended an hour early, I decided to surprise her by walking to the store and buying a sari.

But, alas, this did not happen. I was only 20 rupees short of a 300 rupees saree. I looked again and panicked because in a few minutes my mother would reach the meeting point next door.

Looking sheepishly at the shop owner, I muttered an apology and slipped out into the hot Chennai sun. I was upset and a little angry because I had tears in my eyes.

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Hastily training my face to look calm, I saw my mother walking towards me and spontaneously smiled. She had this walk; she took short steps and walked quickly, earning her the nickname “Von Ryan Express” among my friends. My grandmother was the same way, and her nickname was “Silver Streak” – after the movie.

Mom, as usual, nudged me and asked how I spent my free hour. I said something about just taking a walk. She then reminded me of the shopping we had to do weekly at my aunt’s vegetable market.

The school where my mother worked and where I worked as a teacher was located in the area where the city vegetable market was located, as well as our favorite coffee shop. I was still mentally struggling with not having enough money to buy a saree and wanted to just tell my mom about it.

We walked through the smelly vegetable market. We had to walk through a rotten layer of fruits, vegetables and banana leaves that seemed to mulch under our feet. I still feel resentment for the days when we had to do the hard work of shopping and delivering them to my aunt before heading home.

Kamaji Ogino / Pexels

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Our last stop was a cafe. When we were carrying our bags there to buy coffee powder, my mother asked me what happened. She could read me like a brightly lit sign.

So I blurted out my story of how I wanted to surprise her with a saree. She laughed and after we picked up the coffee bags, she dragged me back to the sari store.

The funny thing is that we still had to dig through our bags to find 300 rupees to buy a saree. Even though mom had money before, we were now broke because of the purchases we had just made. We are back to our natural financial state: broke.

I steeled myself, feeling a little awkward seeing my mom find cash in her bag. It was a funny sight. But always fruitful!

My mother had a penchant for putting money in different places: in her bag, in the pages of books, in the house – and to this day she pleasantly surprises me when I come across hidden money.

And now, as the saleswoman watched with irritation, she first opened her tiny zippered bag and pulled out a folded note. Then her little notebook in which she wrote everything down.

She flipped through the pages looking for money. Then the address book also revealed some money in her bag. She then happily searched each pocket of her large bag for change.

And finally, we got what we needed. Together we managed to save money to buy a sari. Oh, how exciting it was to take home this precious sari! And what a feeling of mission accomplished! I still have it, although I can no longer wear it.

Photo courtesy of the author

You might think that if we both worked, we would have enough money. But then, in the early 80s, our salaries were small. The money has already been allocated for various purposes.

This left very little money for expenses. We paid students tuition to supplement our income. In 47 years of marriage, I have never seen my mother without money.

My mother always hid them in an envelope under her clothes on a shelf, in a book she was reading, or on the kitchen shelf in a steel container.

Then there was an altar where we lit a lamp. We were always confident that we would find some money there in case of an emergency.

This reminds me of how a few years ago my husband and I panicked because the nearby ATMs were out of cash. Besides, it was a holiday and we urgently needed cash.

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As a last resort, I desperately looked at my mother’s shelf, where my son’s things are now stored, and found one of her purses. When I opened it, I was rewarded with a small wad of money wrapped in plastic.

I remembered the day when I gave it to her for safekeeping. She saved the day.

She would call these savings “oxygen” for emergencies. It is very important to have some kind of savings: statistics tell us that 52% of Americans have some kind of savings account.

Even now, when I look through her recipe book, I find money in its pages. As I write this, I think: Imagine browsing through her bookshelves.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be a little richer. And not only in monetary terms. I feel priceless love. My eyes fill with tears when I imagine her cheerful face.

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Vidya Suri writer, editor and diabetes advocate. Apart from her own six websites in various niches, she writes regularly on Medium and has been published in Huffington Post, Business Insider, Abbott India Blog and others.