On Mother's Day, three people share emotional notes on their relationship in the time of COVID-19

The world went into a lockdown to stem the spread of coronavirus in March and two months later, we're all coping with our new normal. In any other situation, we'd spend Mother's Day heading out for a brunch with the family, or if they're not in the same city, sending them flowers via delivery, or making that courtesy call on the morning of. But this year, family has taken on new meaning as many of us head back home to be with our parents, or if we couldn't make it, wonder about their health and safety. On the occasion of Mother's Day, three Vogue staffers talk about their mothers, in light of the pandemic. 

Nitya Chablani: “I've been given a chance to stop and smell the flowers with my favourite person in the world”

I moved to Mumbai from our home in Bangalore a decade ago, and almost every evening since, my mother has called me before bed for a quick chat. Some nights we've laughed together over a crush or piece of gossip, on others, she's patiently listened to me vent about my day, and on particularly bad days, she's struggled to get more than three bitter words out of me, often ending the conversation with, “Okay, go relax. I wish you could do your work, but be here [at home] too.” That one's always been met with a silent roll of the eyes on my end. Moms have the strangest demands.

It's been two months since the Vogue India office closed and I rushed home on an eerily empty flight with nothing more than three sets of clothes, my laptop, and a few books. My mother's open plan kitchen is my new workspace, and she has no qualms about spying on my Zoom meetings, pausing my schedule to show me how she makes ghee (“It's healthier than the store-bought stuff!”), or playing her favourite songs at the highest volume while I edit articles three feet from her. It's been annoying, it's been interesting, it's been pretty hilarious, but above all, it's been a gift. 

While the world battles an invisible force outside my doors, I've been given a chance to stop and smell the flowers with my favourite person in the world. Salon visits have been replaced with (rather terrible) haircuts on the terrace; multiplex dates are now one blanket, a box of cream biscuits, and Disney movies my mother and I never watched together; and fancy restaurant meals have been forgotten for Sunday morning baking lessons. I've begun to notice how her mood lifts each week the lockdown extends, and I can't be thankful enough that I was able to make it home in time. Will a few more weeks make up for the years I've been away from my oldest friend? Probably not. But this is a great start.

Fabio Immediato: “We talk about our summer plans, and when and if we are going to see and hug each other”

I left home (Naples, Italy) when I was 17. Ever since, my morning routine entails an espresso and a Skype call with my mother Pina. At 67, she is a cancer patient along with early signs of Alzheimer's, and part of the shielding group that is forced to remain in lockdown for the foreseeable future during the COVID-19 pandemic. She lives with my 40-year-old brother, who is diligent enough to not leave the house with the fear of passing it on to her.

Since my lockdown here in London (today it marks two months) my morning routine, which always starts with an espresso, has slightly changed. Living alone in a studio apartment—big enough to just about swing a cat—can be lonely, and during this rollercoaster of emotions, quite sad too, so I leave my Skype on for most of the day, during which, Mum and I speak at least four to five times.

We start with the lunch or dinner menu talk, we then mock my brother who has an ever-growing beard and she says, “he looks like an Assisi monk.” I remind her to take all the pills she needs to take, she reminds me of all the ingredients and recipes steps I need to note down. While I cook, she asks me to turn my computer on, so she can follow every single move zealously.

We have made a little ritual for the afternoons: we go through old pictures of us, and we imagine how my dad would have reacted or behaved to this pandemic, had he been alive. We then talk about our summer plans, and when and if we are going to see and hug each other. If I do go to visit her in Naples, I would have to quarantine at a hotel nearby for two weeks before going to meet her, and as much as I would want to otherwise, it is not very practical at this very moment in time. So we continue to stare and love each other, through a laptop screen.

Shahnaz Siganporia: “We haven’t lived in the same city since I was 18; 18 years later I have never felt the distance more”

Today, when I spoke to my mum, she reminded me that it’s been three days since she last heard my voice. With the constant buzzing of our little four-member family group and my packed schedule of Zoom calls and deadlines, I sometimes forget. But she never does—how many days it’s been since we last spoke, my last grocery run, or that I mentioned that my stray cat had come home with a scratch on her eye. Just as she never forgets those hushed reminders at the tail end of our chats, voice or video, to eat healthy and wear my lenses and not smoke too much. It doesn’t matter how old I get, my mum’s always there, gently watching over. 

But the pandemic has created a strange reversal of parenting the parents—"Did you get all your medications?" “Dad’s sugar levels OK?” “Is your throat scratchy, your voice sounds a bit off today?”. This lockdown will end in a few more weeks or so, and the flights from Delhi, the city I call home, to Calcutta, my parent’s home, will be back on. But they’re both above 60, they’re both high risk. So, like most of us, I scan the news and headlines, watching the numbers and tracking the research. But, I guess, all we can really do is stay home and wait for the science to catch up. 

We haven’t lived in the same city since I was 18-years-old, 18 years later I have never felt the distance more. I know how privileged we are with our calls and messages. But we also got used to hopping on flights and closing the miles in hours. She’ll miss her usual flower delivery this Mother’s Day, but she will get a slightly longer call, both on either end seeking a strange comfort in words, stretching the conversation coz neither wants to hang up, yet. We’ll say we love each other, we’ll send kisses and hugs. Both quietly hoping that the day, we can make that a reality is not too far away. 

Also read:

Deepika Padukone reveals how she and her family prepared for India's coronavirus lockdown

Letter from Mumbai: Vogue India editor-in-chief Priya Tanna on finding hope during the global health crisis

6 great ways to spend time with your family during the lockdown