So, ask me again about my role model?

Not too long ago, my son asked me who my role model was when I was growing up. Panicking, because I had none, I racked my brain and came up with "Indira Gandhi". For those not aware of Indian politics, Indira Gandhi was the Prime Minister of India; daughter of Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India. She seemed like a good choice because she had some of the qualities that I admire in women - independent, strong willed, confident and outspoken. She made a difference in the country - changing it, molding it - for better or for worse.

Later I thought more about the question - is it really true that I had no role model growing up? Granted that I never put posters of pop idols and Bollywood actors and actresses on the wall of my room, nor did I obsessively read about rock divas, or Mother Teresa and her likes, nor follow the path of social activists of my time; but did I really have no role models? Upon further reflection, I realized that the reason I couldn't come up with a name was because I had so many role models at different stages of my life, that it was hard to pick one.

I have distinct memory of my neighbor's daughter taking care of me while I was still in pre-school. I called her "Babba Maasi". Maasi in Hindi means mother's sister. She would take care of me when my parents went out for dinner or movie, regaling me with numerous stories about animals having a birthday party for a little bunny and inventive narratives of my imaginary journeys to various places. When my son was little, I found myself telling him those same stories while putting him off to bed. Role model? Absolutely - I did learn a lot of parental tricks from her - didn't I? Maybe she even put the seeds for the travel bug that I developed when I grew up.

Sister Peter Clever was an Irish nun, who was the Principal at my private school till 1982. She was quite an overwhelming personality – very tall with a serious demeanor, and even more serious erect stature. She would walk the hallways, correcting the students’ behavior and English pronunciation – always firm, never rude. Scared as I was of her, I also admired her leadership and strength.

Then there was my 6th grade Geography teacher. Short and petite, she was an accomplished Bharat Natyam dancer and it showed in her graceful movements. Charming, quiet and poised, she created an impression on me. I made an unconscious attempt to model my walking style after her, even though the other half of me tempted me to act like a tom boy.

Right about the time that I entered middle school, my aunt in Hisar started working as a Dietician at the local hospital. She had an office and a whole staff reporting to her. When I visited my grandmother over the summer break, she would bring me to her office and keep me occupied by giving me odd jobs and teaching me Physics and Biology over the lunch and tea breaks. She showed me that women in traditional Punjabi family that I came from could have careers.

Around the time that I was hitting full fledged puberty, Sister Tara came to my school as the new principal. Short, quiet and soft spoken, but the woman had the nerves of steel. She took the school to new heights of modernization. Elegant in Jacquie ‘O style, she was an epitome of grace to me. She taught us about being ladies and strong through words and actions. I went back to that school as a teacher later on in my life, while she was still the principal and learnt the lessons of “Grace under pressure” from her.

Then there is my Mom. I may think she’s full of flaws – which daughter doesn’t? But, I can’t deny that I admire her strength to tolerate adversity, faith in face of fire and her commitment to her children.

Next time my son asks me who my role model was when I was growing up, I’ll be armed. He’d have to be little patient as the answer may take a while.