MOTHERS LOVE - ETERNAL

"A mother's love is something that no one can explain - It is made of deep devotion and of sacrifice and pain. It is endless and unselfish and enduring, come what may, For nothing can destroy it or take that love away. It is patient and forgiving when all others are forsaking, And it never fails or falters even though the heart is breaking." ~ Helen Steiner Rice

What True Gratitude Looks Like…

A warm evening at the Grand Convention Center in New Delhi. Camera flashes sparkled everywhere. Security personnel were speaking into their walkie-talkies, and people in suits were bustling about. Ministers, business magnates, dignitaries, and foreign guests had packed the hall. In the front row sat the most powerful men and women of the country.

In a corner seat in the third row sat a modest woman in a pale cotton saree. Her presence wasn’t striking enough to catch anyone’s eye. Her name was Lakshmi Pichai. Very few people knew who she was. The spotlight was on her son – *Sundar Pichai*, CEO of Google and a pride of India.

Sundar Pichai – a man who had crossed many fiery trials to reach this pinnacle.

Tonight, the Government of India was going to honour this son of the soil. The event was rare and prestigious, attended by some of the nation’s finest minds.

Sundar kept glancing toward his mother. She didn’t like such attention on herself. Sitting quietly with her hands in her lap, her eyes glistened with calm emotion.

As Prime Minister Narendra Modi walked onto the stage, the event commenced amidst thunderous applause. His speech was powerful, full of conviction, struggle, dreams, and deep-rooted values. He mentioned the names of entrepreneurs, scientists, and artists, stirring excitement in the audience. Then, his voice softened with emotion.

“Today, we’re not just honouring Sundar Pichai,” he said.

“We’re honouring the life journey of a mother – a woman who once gave up her own meals so that her son could study.”

Sundar’s heartbeat quickened. He had never publicly spoken of this. A hush fell over the auditorium. Cameras turned to capture the moment. People looked around quietly.

Modiji stepped off the stage, but instead of heading toward Sundar, he walked to the corner of the third row – toward the modest woman in the pale cotton saree.

Lakshmi was startled. She looked up, her hands trembled. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

Modiji said gently,

“It is only because of your sacrifice that this was possible.”

And then – he bowed and touched her feet in respect. The entire hall stood in silent reverence. Camera flashes lit up the room. Journalists scrambled. Sundar’s eyes welled up.

He had never imagined such a moment – not even in his dreams.

He had spent years in Silicon Valley, had met presidents, prime ministers, and monarchs – but no one had honoured his mother this way.

Lakshmi tried to rise. Modiji supported her and gently brought her to the front of the stage. She resisted, but he firmly encouraged her to stand before the audience.

And then – a thunder of applause filled the hall.

Sundar stood beside her, overjoyed. As he stood on stage with his mother, a flood of memories came rushing back.

He remembered their small two-room home in Chennai, its faded walls – a house with no refrigerator. His father worked as an electrical engineer, bringing home circuit diagrams and soldering wires. He couldn’t even afford toys for his children, so he brought them broken radios to take apart and learn from.

Sundar would question him for hours.

His mother taught him math using grains of rice.

When Sundar got into college, his mother sold her wedding bangles to pay the fees. She never told anyone – just said calmly,

“We’ll manage.”

In school, Sundar was a quiet boy – never aggressive, but highly curious.

His teachers said:

“Sundar’s memory is like a mirror. Once he dials a number or writes a code, he never forgets it.”

Sometimes his classmates teased him about his worn-out shoes or the simple lunch he brought from home. He never retaliated – just smiled and walked away.

On hot nights when the electricity went out and fans stopped working, Sundar and his brother lay on the floor drenched in sweat. Their mother would fan them for hours using cardboard, refusing to sleep herself – and still wake early to cook and work.

When Sundar won a scholarship to study in the U.S., he doubted he could even go – the airfare was too expensive.

But his mother told him,

“You go. I’ll speak to the bank.”

But she never went to the bank.

Instead, she sold her last piece of gold jewellery.

And today – in Delhi’s most prestigious hall, he stood beside her on stage before the Prime Minister of India.

In that moment, the whole world faded for Sundar.

All he could feel was the warmth of his mother’s breath and the touch of her hand.

Journalists published many articles about the tech titan and the Prime Minister.

But the moment etched in Sundar’s memory was when, quietly, back at the hotel that night, his mother held his hand like she used to when he was a child, and said:

“You never forgot. That’s enough for me.”

To which Sundar replied:

> “Ma, the reason we can never forget –

is that you never asked for anything.”

Narration by: Jayant Joshi in Marathi

https://youtu.be/2lMYd9QlapU