Our mother belonged to a romantic generation — that somehow retained its faith in human nature and its optimism about the future despite all the ups and downs of a tough life. This idealism showed up when she and her sisters got together and launched into all the romantic songs of their youth, a favourite being Little Things Mean a Lot.

They were probably nostalgic about their courting days — and that yearning emerged as a little choke in their voices. They already knew that romance tended to fly out of the window as troubles marched in through the door and they had done more than their share of struggling: Making ends meet on a shoestring budget, raising children, keeping them safe and healthy in a world without vaccinations and easily available medical treatment, and a lot more. But they would have liked their spouses to acknowledge the possibility of more magic in their relationship — a ‘secret smile’ now and then to keep their hearts afloat.

We loved the lyrics of that song, especially since we heard it so often, and we grew up imagining romance (of the type that was sung about) in our lives too. But when we failed to see a ‘suitable’ response from our Dad or our uncles to the hope in the eyes that turned towards them, we let go of our belief in the little things that mean a lot.

We didn’t want to get that choke in our voices at a later date, so when our turn came, we didn’t build up romantic expectations from our everyday life with the male of the species. We didn’t look for someone to indulge us; and in turn, we indulged no one. No sweet talk, no trying to humour anyone or cater to their foibles; certainly no swaying to romantic songs that tugged at the heartstrings ...

Ups-and-downs of daily routine

After a lifetime of this matter-of-factness, however, I now look around at family and friends and realise that little gestures and little kindnesses have not been buried by the ups-and-downs of daily routine. What’s more, they extend not just to spouses, but to the relatives of spouses as well.

Thus, a nephew-in-law, who could so easily have bid farewell to me before he left for work and let me go to the airport with my niece, since I wanted to be there way too early, indulged my predilection for getting to airports and railway stations hours before I needed to and rearranged his day to get back to see me off. He waved away my effusive thanks as just ‘a little thing’ — but it not only meant a lot to me, it also said a lot about him.

In another part of the world, another nephew-in-law led the way across a crowded street — and when he reached the other side, realised that his wife and we were not following. Though we were all capable of crossing on our own, back he came again, saying ruefully, “I should have waited for you and made sure you came along ...” How high he spiralled in my estimation with those words!

And then there was a young friend’s husband, whom we had met for the first time. After an enjoyable dinner, we left to get the bus home — and suddenly realised we had left something behind. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered and sprinted off. By the time we reached the bus stop, he was back again, with the forgotten item — and all the leftover Swedish mandeltorte that we had tasted for the first time and thoroughly enjoyed! He won our hearts completely with that gesture!

I wonder why I allowed myself to forget those little things that mean a lot — and why I presume that others forget them too.

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.