We were in the middle of an argument. My mother wanted me to wear a certain saree for my cousin's wedding. I neither wanted to wear the chosen saree nor was I interested in the wedding. She walked away in anger murmuring something about the present generation's stubborn ways. We finally worked out a compromise. I wore what I wanted to but I did end up going to the wedding.

I can't help looking back on that incident with a trace of amusement. In a way, it stood for that strange relationship between a grown daughter and her middle-aged mother. After years of growing up on her values and following in her footsteps, I was finally struggling to assert my independence. And she would cut me down in that overprotective motherly way of hers. She firmly believed that my life was hers to plan and rule until I was safely married off. Then it was up to my husband.

Sometimes her softer side would melt my heart. When I stayed up late into the night for exams, she could never really get to sleep. She would constantly keep checking on me, making tea or anything I needed.

When I was leaving the country, it was painful to say goodbye. She was there at the airport with the rest of the family. Somehow she looked old and vulnerable. There were tears in her eyes that I hadn't seen for a long time.

Now it is I who give her the strength whenever she needs it. The role reversal seems incredible but she seems to have accepted it. She sees me as an individual in my own right and respects my decisions. And yet, in some strange way, whenever I run into insurmountable problems, it is my mother that I think of. I may not ask for her advice anymore but the very thought makes me feel instantly better. It's a nice feeling to know that no matter how much I grow up, I'll always be her little girl.