My Mom’s Saree, Her Smile & the Strength She Gave Me
My Mom’s Saree, Her Smile & the Strength She Gave Me
By Juhi — Mentor, Learner, Educator | Juhi the Explorer
It’s been 18 years since I last held her hand.
Since I heard her voice, felt her hug, or watched her drape her saree with that soft, graceful rhythm only she had.
But not a single day has gone by where her presence didn’t echo in my heart.
Sometimes, all it takes is a whiff of her perfume…
Or the sight of a mustard yellow saree fluttering in the wind…
And suddenly — I’m 14 again, standing in front of her, watching her tuck in the final pleat.
🥻 The Saree That Still Speaks — And Walks With Me
I still remember her sarees — not just the fabric, but the feelings.
Cotton for home. Silk for special days. Printed ones for temple visits.
And that one peach-colored saree she wore on my school PTM — I thought she looked like a movie star.
Her saree was more than clothing. It was her confidence, her grace, her signature.
When she walked into a room, it flowed behind her like a gentle reminder:
"Here comes a woman who holds everything together."
And in so many of our old photographs, there’s a pattern I’ve come to notice —
I’m always sitting on her lap, wrapped safely in the folds of her saree,
while her other hand is gently holding Avi’s — my younger brother.
It’s like her love was always balancing us both — one in her arms, the other in her grasp.
A mother. A protector. A quiet anchor.
Today, I still have some of her sarees with me.
I’ve worn them on special occasions — ceremonies, pujas, moments that felt like they needed her presence.
And every time I wear one, it feels like I’m wrapped in her — in her strength, her softness, her soul.
Her sarees are no longer just a memory in a cupboard…
They’re the part of her that walks beside me when I need her the most.
😊 That Smile — Always There, Even in Pain
She smiled a lot — and not always because she was happy.
Sometimes because she didn’t want us to see the storm inside her.
I saw it, though.
The way her smile stayed even when money was tight, health was fragile, or time was unfair.
Her smile wasn’t for show — it was strength in disguise.
It told me, without saying a word:
"Even if things fall apart — we don’t."
💪 The Strength She Passed On Without Saying a Word
After she left in 2007, I didn’t realize right away what she had left behind.
No letters. No final words.
But she did leave something: a quiet, unbreakable strength.
It was in the way I showed up at college after sleepless nights.
In the way I managed hostel life in Nashik, far from papa and Avi.
In how I carry responsibilities now, as a wife, daughter-in-law, and woman of my own story.
Sometimes I wonder: “How am I even doing all this?”
And the answer softly whispers: “Because she showed me how.”
🌸 A Saree I Can Wear — And Carry Her In
There’s one special saree of hers I wore during an important family event.
As I stood in front of the mirror, fixing the pleats, a strange calm washed over me —
I felt like she was right there, helping me the way she used to.
Her saree didn’t just fit — it embraced me.
That day, I didn’t cry.
I smiled.
Because I realized — she wasn’t gone. She was with me, through me.
And when I wear her sarees now, it’s no longer about dressing up.
It’s about carrying forward a legacy of love, resilience, and quiet courage.
💌 For Every Girl Missing Her Maa
If you’ve lost your mom too, I want to tell you this:
You may forget the sound of her voice,
But you’ll never forget how it made you feel.
You may not remember every saree she wore,
But you’ll never forget how she carried herself — and you.
And one day, in a moment of doubt or strength,
You’ll realize…
You became her legacy.
And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing a daughter can wear.
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