A Mother’s Day Story for Everyone Who Was Raised by Love

This article has been written by our Founder Nikita Naterwalla 

My mother’s gentleness was wrapped in steel. I only realised that after I tried to become her. But I never told her.

Growing up, I thought my mother had some sort of sixth sense. You know the type. She would know I was faking a stomach ache before I even said a word. She could tell if I had a bad day just by the way I walked through the door. And God help me if I ever thought I could lie to her. Mom had this look—part amusement, part disappointment—that could peel off the truth right off my soul.

Back then, I didn’t think much of it. I thought all mothers were like that. I didn’t realise I was being raised by a kind of love that would become the blueprint for every love I would seek in my life……But I never told her.

Love Was Always Packed in My Tiffin

These are memories that blow up in full colour.

One is the school tiffin. Gol papdi ‘prasad’ with my aloo parathas. Hand written notes in gujarati that I could barely decipher, folded under the lid. I’d pretend to be annoyed if someone spotted them, but on hard days (and I had plenty of those), they held me together……. But I never told her.

Sunday morning hair oiling routine while watching Ramayan on TV. I sulked, twisted, begged to be spared. She never reacted. She just worked the oil in gently, parting my hair the same way each time. It was routine then. It’s ritual now—I find my fingers mimicking her rhythm when I oil my daughter’s hair……. But I never told her 

Then there were nights I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was exam stress. Sometimes heartbreak. She never asked. She just showed up—bournvita milk, extra blanket, her hand resting silently on my forehead and telling me her childhood stories to divert my mind…... But I never told her.

Motherhood Isn’t Magic. It’s Showing Up When No One Claps.

It took me becoming a mother to understand. There’s no user manual. No applause. No certainty. Just a quiet kind of bravery that repeats itself every day.
She wasn’t perfect. She worried too much. She snapped when tired…also when she was not tired. She nagged. But she forgave fast. She laughed hard. But she never, ever gave up on me…... But I never told her

Now when my child looks at me like I once looked at her—with wide-eyed expectation—I wonder how many nights she lay awake questioning herself, doubting her choices. And how she showed up the next morning anyway, with tiffin notes and hair oil……. But I never told her.

Motherhood Isn’t Just a Person. It’s a Presence.

Some of us have mothers in blood. Some in soul. I was raised not just by my mother, but by a legacy of women—a gorgeous open minded, wise grandmother, 10 aunts (yes I come from a very…very large family) who have always been an inspiration, a guiding light and a safe haven to run to, elder cousins who passed on hand-me-down wisdom with their hand-me-down clothes.

It’s in the friends who hold your secrets. The teacher who noticed you before you noticed yourself. The women who stepped in when your own mother couldn’t.

I’ve thanked a few of them. But not all. Some are no longer around……. And I never told them.

This Mother’s Day, I’m Not Saying Thank You. I’m Saying I Remember.

I remember how she made me fold my clothes the same size and stack them in the cupboard so they topple. How she waited up for me during my rebellious years, pretending to fall asleep on the sofa. How she let go—bit by bit—when I needed space, even though it probably crushed her.

And now, years later, I understand that love. It wasn't loud. It was woven quietly into everything she did……. But I never told her.

And Now That I Know Better… I Show It

At Caim, every product I create is a reflection of her love. Clean, thoughtful, and uncompromising. She won't let me have it any other way.

1. Replenish is how she snuck nutrition into my meals when I refused to eat the palak, bhindi and singh nu shaak.

2. Restore Your Peace is the warm embrace she offered when my world felt like too much.

3. Rekindle is the hormonal balance she fought for while I was a puberty-stricken rebel-without-cause teen (yup - I was born to her when she was 38!) while her own body changed and she had no words for it.

4. Restore Your Sleep is the lullaby she never stopped humming under her breath—even when she was exhausted.

Just like she never settled for anything less than the best for me, I don’t settle for anything less in what I build. No chemicals. No shortcuts. Just the care she taught me, repackaged in nature’s purest form.

For Everything We Never Said Then, There’s Still Time Now.

So this Mother’s Day, don’t just buy a gift. Give a memory. Call her. Visit her. Take her out. Ask her what her dreams were before they became yours. Hold her hand. Tell her that you noticed. That you remember. That you’re grateful.
Say all the things you didn’t then.

Because now—you know better.
And now, you still can. 

I know what I’m doing this Sunday—
And every single day that I still can.
I’m going to sit with her, Hold her hand, Look her in the eye,
And tell her everything I didn’t.