Of Moms, Miracles, and May Mornings

Published on: Mother’s Day 2025

The Good Juju | By a Mother, For All Mothers

Today is special.

Not because the laundry’s done (it’s not).

Not because the toddler didn’t tantrum at breakfast (she did).

But because today is Mother’s Day—and for the first time, I get to celebrate it with both my babies in my arms. My heart—and home—now beat with the chaos and love of a daughter, a son, a cat who thinks he’s in charge, and a husband who actually is (according to our toddler).

But before I talk about me, let me talk about my mother.

A woman of quiet strength and impossible sacrifices.

She is brilliant—truly. A topper, a thinker, a dreamer of bigger things. But like many women of her generation, she was married young, not because she wasn’t capable of more, but because duty whispered louder than ambition. Her studies paused for a marriage certificate, her dreams shelved so others could soar. But if you think she gave up—you’ve never met a determined Bengali woman in a starched cotton saree.

She didn’t let her interrupted journey define mine.

She made sure I never missed a class unless I had a fever or a broken limb (and even then, she’d send me with paracetamol and a snack box). She insisted I learn to stand on my own feet—and more importantly, earn with them—before marriage entered the chat. Everything I am today, I owe to her relentless belief that daughters should never be dependent, not even on destiny.

So today, I raise a (cold) cup of chai to her.

And to all mothers like her—the ones who put their lives on pause so their children’s could play at full volume.

Now, let’s talk about Mother’s Day—the one day when burnt toast in bed is gourmet and glitter glue cards are emotional masterpieces.

Mother’s Day is celebrated across more than 40 countries, but not all on the same date.

In most places, including the United States, India, Australia, Canada, and many others, it falls on the second Sunday of May. This year, that’s May 11th. (You’re welcome for the reminder. Go call your mom.)

Its origins trace back to Anna Jarvis, an American woman who wanted a day to honor the tireless, invisible labor of mothers.

What began as a personal crusade in 1908 became a national holiday in the U.S. by 1914—and eventually, a global celebration.

Fun fact: Anna ended up resenting the commercialization of Mother’s Day.

Bet she’d be horrified at the price of brunch today.

Around the world, it’s celebrated with flowers, breakfast-in-bed attempts, and heart-shaped everything.

In Ethiopia, it’s part of a multi-day festival called Antrosht, where families sing, feast, and tell stories of mothers past and present.
In Mexico, “Día de las Madres” on May 10th involves mariachi serenades and big family feasts.
In Japan, kids gift hand-drawn portraits of their moms and red carnations to show love and respect.
In Serbia, mothers get tied up by their children and have to give them sweets and gifts to be untied. (Honestly, feels a bit too close to home.)

In India, Mother’s Day is mostly a borrowed celebration, but we’ve made it our own.

It’s a mix of WhatsApp forwards, cake cutting, Insta stories with old photos, and yes—special pujas in some homes to honor the divine feminine.

And here I am, this year, a mother twice over.

Last year, I was waddling through May with a giant belly and sore feet.

This year, my arms are fuller, my eyes are puffier, and my heart is somehow larger and leakier than ever.

My daughter made me a “surprise” card by scribbling on the walls (again).

My baby boy gurgled at me like I hung the moon.

Bobi the cat has been sulking because he’s no longer the baby of the house.

And my husband? Well, he’s planning something. Or pretending to. I’ll find out when I “accidentally” open the fridge and see a box of sweets badly hidden behind the milk packet.

Today, I’m not just my mother’s daughter. I am a mother myself.

And I finally understand the bone-deep exhaustion, the unspoken guilt, the fierce protectiveness, and the unbelievable joy that comes with this role.