The two women who taught me how work actually gets done

I often think about the two women who have shaped my approach to work more than anyone else—my Mom and my Wife. They are very different from each other. In fact, they are almost opposites. But in my life, those opposites shaped me.

My Mom and my Wife are two such opposites when it comes to their attitude toward work. If you imagine the English letters M and W, they look like perfect mirror images—distinct yet connected. That’s how I see these two incredible women in my life.

My Mom is a powerhouse of swift and efficient service. Her priority is to squeeze every moment for productivity—do things fast, finish tasks quickly, and only then circle back to clean up the mess—if at all. In some cases, she even redefines what counts as a ‘mess.’ The environment she grew up in shaped that style—a sense of urgency and making the most of every minute. She’s the kind who would rather keep the engine running even if the windshield’s a little smeared—cleaning can wait till the destination is reached. A bit of stickiness or a small spill doesn’t warrant a pit stop in her book.

My wife, on the other hand, is deliberate, composed, and careful. Her focus is on doing things slowly and with intention, ensuring there’s minimal mess to begin with. She takes pride in working mindfully, valuing long-term harmony over short-term speed. If her hands are sticky, she insists on washing them before touching anything else. If water spills, she addresses it right away to avoid further work later. For her, such care prevents cascading tasks and keeps the environment naturally tidy.

Over the years, I realized their philosophies show up in the smallest moments of life.

Let me ask you a question. Suppose you have a bowl of cereal filled with milk right to the brim. You sit down on the couch to eat and suddenly realize the fan is off. Would you first place the bowl safely on the center table and then switch on the fan? Or would you rush with the bowl in your hand to save those few seconds?

That tiny decision captures the difference between M and W.

It’s not that careful people never spill things. It’s that they try their best to avoid it—and if something spills, they feel slightly defeated, as if the system broke down somewhere. My wife belongs to that school of thought.

My mom belongs to another.

Whenever I used to ask her, “Is this vessel clean?” or “Was that one rinsed properly?” her standard response—often with a hint of annoyance—was: “शंका से घटे समाधान.” In her world, too much doubt only slows things down.

Her discomfort with stillness goes even further. When I was young, she worked as a teacher in a neighboring satellite town. I used to drop her to school on our little moped. Occasionally, the vehicle would break down in the middle of nowhere. While I would start fiddling with the spark plug or kick-starting the engine, most pillion riders would simply wait.

Not my mom. She would immediately start walking toward the school. She knew I would probably get the moped running in a few minutes. And many times I did—just in time to ride ahead, catch up with her on the road, and pick her up again for the remaining distance. Waiting felt like wasted motion to her.

Even cooking reflected this philosophy. My wife uses a pressure cooker selectively. My mom, on the other hand, almost treated it like a strategic ally—constantly thinking about what all could be done inside it so she wouldn’t have to attend to the stove repeatedly. Slow simmering dishes that required standing nearby were never her favorite.

Recently I bought a honey dispenser with a spiral-slotted ball inside. It releases honey slowly and neatly—but requires patience. A spoon would be much faster, though slightly riskier for spills. As I was using the dispenser one day, I caught myself wondering how much anguish my mom would express if she saw me operating this slow contraption.

Growing up, I often felt I was watching the old rabbit and tortoise story unfold at home. My mom was the rabbit—sprinting through tasks, covering distance quickly, and then taking a full rest. My wife is the tortoise—moving slowly, steadily, and mindfully, but almost never creating the need to backtrack.

Their attitudes toward change are also different. My mom is always on a quest for more efficiency. Her favorite phrase: “जरासा change!”—as if every small tweak might unlock a faster way of doing things. My wife’s changes are slower, but once a routine forms, it becomes remarkably consistent.

I must confess that in my early years I inherited mostly my mom’s speed—but also her side effects. I was quite clumsy. The undue hurry often resulted in spilling, breaking, and dropping things. My mom did the same (and quietly, she still does).

After marriage, something interesting happened. Living with my wife slowly taught me the art of slowing down—especially where slowing down actually prevents more work later.

Today I feel fortunate that I didn’t have to choose between the two philosophies.

From my mom, I learned efficiency—the ability to get more done in less time. From my wife, I absorbed effectiveness—doing things right the first time so they don’t need to be done again.

Somehow, life allowed me to combine the two. So this is really a gratitude post—for M and W. I carry a bit of both of you in everything I do: fast where possible, slow where necessary.

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