Meet the Iron Lady of My Life!

She always wears a smile of kindness on her innocent face. Her black, mystic eyes always held many untold stories. They seemed to speak only to those who cared to look into them—with a vision of understanding. Whenever I met her, she always seemed to be striving to make things perfect—for everyone around her, for every occasion.

"Can I call you Mumma?" I asked her during our very first call. This was the kind of question one asks only once in a lifetime. Of course, you do not ask this question to your own mother. But yes, she was my mother-in-law to be.

With her in 2013

"Yes, certainly!" she responded, with a deep sense of happiness. To me, it felt as if she had spread her heart wide open to welcome me—her prospective son-in-law.

It was such a beautiful feeling. Before our marriage was finalized, Priya had already enchanted me. And although I had not yet received a full-fledged 'Yes' from her, getting such a warm welcome from Mumma was a sign of acceptance—a grand one.

Life took a dive into a dark tunnel when she lost her husband in 1996, after just fifteen years of marriage. While the world was heading towards the 21st century, life as a single woman with three young children was far from easy. Though Mumma and her children lived in a joint family, discrimination was apparent. Priya, then in the 10th grade, was the eldest of the three. It was a crucial academic year, and losing a father was a disaster—a disruption she had to endure.

Baba, Mumma’s father-in-law, emerged as her biggest supporter during these trying times. With his encouragement, she decided to pursue higher education—to walk the path toward the light at the end of this tunnel of darkness.

That year, both Mumma and Priya burned the midnight oil. Their efforts began to bear fruit when Priya topped her school, leading her mother and two siblings by example. Mumma didn’t look back. She resumed her own education after years of academic gap.

Her immediate journey of struggle paused briefly when the Reserve Bank of India hired her as a Class 4 employee. Securing a job was a win, but it was only the beginning of another phase of hard work. Shoulder to shoulder with her male colleagues, she carried weights in the cash department. At times, she also worked in the office canteen. But none of that mattered to her when she saw her children progressing in their careers. Alongside all this, she continued to study and steadily carved out her own path.

This year, Mumma retired as a Class B Officer from the Reserve Bank. It was her life’s greatest milestone. I was with her all day for the retirement ceremony. Her three children and all the grandchildren attended the function, along with RBI staff. Each grandchild spoke about her journey. Her colleagues, who had witnessed her sincerity and dedication over the years, celebrated her achievements with heartfelt applause. I could see a sense of gratitude on their faces - the one that was spontaneous and pure.  

"I could serve the bank for five more years very easily. I don’t feel like I’m a sixty-year-old woman," said Mumma during her farewell speech. Her spirit was applauded by everyone in the conference room.

After the farewell function, we proceeded to the lunch in the office lounge. I stood beside her, holding her hand at the lunch table.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Look Neeraj, there was a time in my life when I picked up the plates here. Today, I am a guest of honor.”

I could see tears in her eyes. I could feel the rough journey she had just concluded. Her professional life is an epitome, a testimony of where persistant hardwork, kindness, knowledge and tolerance can take us. 

"These tears do not suit your eyes. You are an iron woman, Mumma!" I said, giving her a tight hug.