Not descriptions of the Avengers (although they could be), but what came to my family’s mind when they thought of their mothers. Yes, the last one refers to me, or Hawkeye (seriously, that costume).

The usual adjectives used to describe mothers are conspicuous by their absence: giving, forgiving, patient, loving, beautiful, what-have-you (umm, nothing, for mothers are so giving).

As Covid surges, and mortality is on everyone’s mind, it’s time for mothers to pause and think about what they want their children to remember them by. Time to ask yourself: What is your legacy as a mother?

Close to two years ago, there was a hullaballoo in our parents’ WhatsApp group: A woman had Swiggied lunch to her child in the school, and was promptly castigated. A forward was doing the rounds. “If you have Swiggy for food, and a nanny to take care of the children,” the forward thundered, “What is your value to your children? You will not be missed even one day.”

First of all, sister, if your everlasting contribution to your children’s lives is the perfect dhokla, you have already lost the plot. This, coming from a woman who is still on the quest to recreate the taste of her mother’s jeera rasam.

Second, the point of life is not to be missed after you are gone, it is to empower your children so that they take care of themselves with or without you. (Except the insignificant other, if any, who must be miserable their entire life without you, of course.)

I only hope my children understand someday, even if I fight for the crispiest dosai, zealously guard my squares of Dairy Milk with the auditory skills of an accountant (that’s got to be the correct use of the word), and take them to places that I want to visit, even if they’re not interested.

My kids and I have a guilty pleasure: We watch a soap called Anupama. (Yes, yes, judge away. On second thought, with the state of today’s judiciary, don’t.) In the serial, a 40+ mother of three (beautifully essayed by Rupali Ganguly) finally realises she has been a doormat all her life. A pretty long-lasting one, as far as doormats go. She tries and retrieves her self-respect, yet, her focus remains her children and her family. Call me a monster (or is it momster?) but when Anupama gets news that her life may be in danger, and her first concern is, ‘How will my family get along without me?’ I only thought: Come on, girl! I thought you had crossed all that! I would be worried about the pain, honestly.

I believe that my kids should and can learn several things from me, but recipes are not on top of the list. Mostly because cooking is not my forte, and I am well past my fort-ey, but also in a larger philosophical sense.

Instead, I hope they learn, through the circuitous way of a crispy dosai: respect for the self, joy of life, empathy, and other intangibles. Abstract nouns, uncountable nouns — not just things that can be increased in number on a Swiggy menu.

When I’m gone, I don’t care much about how I’m remembered, but that my children carry a part of me with them for the rest of their lives, consciously or not, like genes. That I live a life that inspires them enough to take a part of me for themselves. By the way, that damn dressing sense: where can I get a kilo?

Meera Rajagopalan is the author of The Eminently Forgettable Life of Mrs Pankajam, published by Hachette India