“Matru Devo Bhava” — our culture teaches us that a mother is equal to God. As I grew older, I truly understood why.
My mother was born in 1954 and raised in a village in the Nalgonda region during the 1960s and early 1970s, a time when very few women were encouraged to study. But my mother was different. She loved education deeply and dreamed of standing on her own feet.
Coming from a conservative family, she did something extraordinary for that time. She pawned her gold chain to pay for her Teacher Training Course and travelled alone from Nalgonda to Hyderabad to study while staying with friends. That decision changed the course of our lives. She later worked as a private school teacher, determined to become financially independent.
After marrying my father in 1981, she moved from Nalgonda to Warangal. But marriage never stopped her ambition. Around 1983, she secured a Government teacher’s job. Back then, we lived in a village called Pegadapalle near Warangal. Every morning, she would wake up around 4 AM, finish all the household work, cook for the family, and travel by bullock cart from our village to Hanamkonda Chowrasta, where she would catch a bus to Warangal for school. Later, when a bus route finally came to our village, she would still board the first bus at 4:45 AM without fail.
I was born in 1987, and my younger brother in 1990. To my mother, we were her entire world. No matter how hard life was, she always wanted us to have the best. She bought us beautiful clothes, celebrated our birthdays grandly, and made sure our childhood was filled with joy. One of my most vivid memories is how, every year after our last exam on April 24th, she would pack our bags in advance and somehow take us to our grandmother’s house in Nalgonda for the summer holidays. Those two months were magical.
Then, in 1999, our lives changed overnight.
My father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. I was in 7th class, and my younger brother was in 3rd class. Looking back now, I honestly don’t know how my mother survived that phase. But somehow, she did everything.
She woke up every morning, cooked for us, packed our lunch boxes, got us ready for school, went to work as a teacher, managed groceries, bills, responsibilities — everything, completely on her own.
Today, when I think about it, I wonder, “How did she manage all this without breaking down?” But that is who my mother is. She is strength wrapped in kindness. She is resilience hidden behind unconditional love.
Even today, at 71 years old, she remembers every tiny detail about our lives. I forget things she tells me within minutes, but she never forgets anything related to us. These may seem like small things, but she has done them consistently for decades without expecting anything in return.
She faced physical, emotional, and financial hardships throughout her life, but she overcame every single one of them with quiet dignity. From pawning her gold chain to pursue education, to rebuilding our family after my father’s death — she has been a fighter in every phase of life.
To me, my mother is not just a parent. She is my shero, my role model, and the reason my brother and I are where we are today.
No words will ever fully capture what I feel for her.
Happy Mother’s Day, Amma. Thank you for carrying our world on your shoulders with a smile.”
— Santhosh Manduva