<p class="bodytext">At six-thirty that morning, the metal gate shut with a clang, and we knew she was back. I watched from the window while she literally flew through that fifty-metre stretch from the gate to the front door. I sensed resignation in Dad’s voice as he opened the door and said in Tamil, “This one has also flown the nest!” Mum’s demeanour was one of triumph! Did she feel a sense of fulfilment in her youngest child’s achievement?</p>.<p class="bodytext">Fifty-six years ago, in 1970, the youngest of us siblings was hell-bent on joining the Air Force Medical College (AFMC). Having just finished her Class 11 boards, Mum enticed her into applying to CMC, Vellore, saying it would help her with her entrance exam to AFMC. In May that year, she cleared the written exam and was called to attend a three-day interview. Assuring her that the interview, too, would be a trial run for AFMC, they made that journey to Vellore. This story, incidentally, is not about our sister. It is about our mother, who almost always had it her way. </p>.<p class="bodytext">The rules were clear that during the three days, mother and daughter could not meet. Mum checked into the YWCA where she befriended a Bengali-speaking lady, who, like herself, had accompanied her son to the interview. How these two women communicated, God alone knows, but they were together through all their waking hours.</p>.Fifty years ago, remote Dimapur airstrip gave wings to fledgling Bangladesh Air Force.<p class="bodytext">As per prior instructions, on the evening of the third day, the parents were to assemble at the open grounds where the results were being announced. The candidates were at the venue with their bag and baggage. If they didn’t make it, they had to leave the premises while the successful candidates stayed on. Our sister was among the successful candidates. She was given five minutes to meet with our mother and take leave of her. Had it not been for her ears, Mother’s grin of happiness and pride would have gone right around her head. They hugged and parted ways. Our sister had to immediately settle down at the medical college. There was no time to recall that this was to be a trial run to entering AFMC!</p>.<p class="bodytext">Clearing up our parental home, I found a couple of certificates that Mother had received from St John’s Ambulance for proficiency in First Aid and a letter from CMC congratulating her on passing the entrance exam to the BSc Nursing Course and inviting her to an interview. That interview didn’t happen. She was married off. I didn’t think of it then, but Mum perhaps lived vicariously through our sister’s achievement!</p>
<p class="bodytext">At six-thirty that morning, the metal gate shut with a clang, and we knew she was back. I watched from the window while she literally flew through that fifty-metre stretch from the gate to the front door. I sensed resignation in Dad’s voice as he opened the door and said in Tamil, “This one has also flown the nest!” Mum’s demeanour was one of triumph! Did she feel a sense of fulfilment in her youngest child’s achievement?</p>.<p class="bodytext">Fifty-six years ago, in 1970, the youngest of us siblings was hell-bent on joining the Air Force Medical College (AFMC). Having just finished her Class 11 boards, Mum enticed her into applying to CMC, Vellore, saying it would help her with her entrance exam to AFMC. In May that year, she cleared the written exam and was called to attend a three-day interview. Assuring her that the interview, too, would be a trial run for AFMC, they made that journey to Vellore. This story, incidentally, is not about our sister. It is about our mother, who almost always had it her way. </p>.<p class="bodytext">The rules were clear that during the three days, mother and daughter could not meet. Mum checked into the YWCA where she befriended a Bengali-speaking lady, who, like herself, had accompanied her son to the interview. How these two women communicated, God alone knows, but they were together through all their waking hours.</p>.Fifty years ago, remote Dimapur airstrip gave wings to fledgling Bangladesh Air Force.<p class="bodytext">As per prior instructions, on the evening of the third day, the parents were to assemble at the open grounds where the results were being announced. The candidates were at the venue with their bag and baggage. If they didn’t make it, they had to leave the premises while the successful candidates stayed on. Our sister was among the successful candidates. She was given five minutes to meet with our mother and take leave of her. Had it not been for her ears, Mother’s grin of happiness and pride would have gone right around her head. They hugged and parted ways. Our sister had to immediately settle down at the medical college. There was no time to recall that this was to be a trial run to entering AFMC!</p>.<p class="bodytext">Clearing up our parental home, I found a couple of certificates that Mother had received from St John’s Ambulance for proficiency in First Aid and a letter from CMC congratulating her on passing the entrance exam to the BSc Nursing Course and inviting her to an interview. That interview didn’t happen. She was married off. I didn’t think of it then, but Mum perhaps lived vicariously through our sister’s achievement!</p>
