When someone thinks of the perfect American family, they picture a white couple living in a white house with a white picket fence and two kids that get spoiled by their grandma’s constant baking and Christmas gifts. I’d say my family is also perfect, except it gives a new definition to the word. My family consists of a Bangladeshi immigrant couple living in a brick-red house with a discolored fence and four kids that never understood the reference of “Grandma’s freshly baked cookies.” My grandma, or Nanumoni in Bangla, may have never baked me cookies, but she is no less of a hero in my eyes.
At 13, Nanumoni carried the responsibilities of a wife, and at 16, those of a mother. Fast forward 50 years and she’s still taking care of her five kids and their families. Every morning, at 9am, while the rest of the family is still dreaming, Nanumoni wakes up and does all the little chores in the house. She does them so that when we wake up, our eighty-year-old house looks new. I’ll admit that until I woke up earlier than her one morning, I never knew that our house could accumulate that much dust in one day. I don’t really know what went through my mind before then, but perhaps I thought we had elves doing all the cleaning. At that moment, even while half-asleep, I understood that I take Nanumoni for granted.
Her love is irreplaceable, and it holds true in the way she takes care of my Nanabhai, or grandpa. We all believe that Nanabhai has dementia, but he doesn’t know that because Nanumoni won’t let anyone destroy his bliss. She gives him breakfast when he thinks it’s the morning at 6pm and walks with him outside when he believes it’s the afternoon at 3am, making sure he never discovers the truth. That’s who she is, a woman who helps others with a smile, even when it takes a toll on her own health. Nanumoni thinks that I don’t notice when she hides her yawn or gets a hot pack for her sore legs, but like everyone else, she’s human. When it’s a more difficult day, I’m there for her in the way that she’s there for everyone else. Whether it be by watching her favorite desi dramas with her or helping her choose what saree to wear on a special occasion, I show Nanumoni that she will never be alone.
Sometimes, like any other teenager, I get caught up in my own problems, but remembering what Nanumoni goes through on a daily basis humbles me. I know it’s healthy to value my own issues, but it’s also important for me to realize that I have always had it better than her. Everything Nanumoni does as a wife, a mother, and a grandmother is so that her family never has to go through struggles or pain. The only thing I can do to make her efforts worthwhile is better my own future. Like she says, I have to focus on pora lekha, or in other words, my studies. Nanumoni made it possible to have a life in the United States, and it’s my job to continue carving that path.
She inspires me every day, and I know that if I had to pick something to inherit from her, it would be her capacity for love. When the day feels gloomy from the ups and downs of our big family, Nanumoni holds it all together with her presence. With her maxi dresses that come in every shade of pink and her matching scarf for modesty, she lights up any room she walks into. The smell of the coconut oil that she applies to her hair every night is one that I associate with comfort and serenity. Even now, I can feel the safety and warmth that only a grandmother could provide.