Saturday, February 2, 2008

the lady with the lamp

my brother has a habit...bad, good i do not know. but it sometimes makes me eager for motherhood, sometimes just makes me blush.

he repeatedly comes back to the sweet little kid i light someday call my own, nd how he will trouble nd irritate me etc etc. not to say, my mother finds a lot of elation from this conversation. nd as she laughs imagining me in the position she has adorned for over 20 years now, makes me gaze at her in wonder,nd keep gazing on...

it is common belief that motherhood makes a woman complete, nd all women strive for the nine month wait to make herself being seen as a moderately more respectable,indian version of woman that we have grown to is it really that simple?i read an article the other day which forced me to believe otherwise.a mother is a child sitting in her exam, all alone, without preparation...ok she has the pen nd the ink, bt she's clueless about the answers. she doesnt know what subject she's expected to answer on, neither does she kno the marking scheme. she waits in fervent trepidation after she marks each answer, right according to her, nd waits for the acknowledgement that she is indeed right.vexed by the series of tsts that hardly last a week, its fascinating to imagine a 22 year old girl doing it for a score of years.thats precisely the age of my mom when i was born.

nd with what elan has she done it.thers not a single instance where i ever doubted her ability to choose the best or it a dress colour, or the academic stream.she has never let me know to what extent she might have vexed herself, to what degree of frustration she might have gone to when she wanted to kick the guy who defeated me in the race, but still managed to smile, to what depth of understanding nd compromise she must have plunged herself to make me feel like the angel she thinks i many times has she treated my bout of adolsence banter nd faked interest? how long has she pretended not to notice when i fell to the traps of a young adult? how many fights must she have endured with dad to get me the thing i craved? how many favourites had she let go for my benefit? how many prayers must she have wasted in order to make her daughter see sense?how many times must she have given the silent treatment to my relatives for criticizing me for whatever reason?how many times must she have wept harder than me after having scolded me herself?

i have shouted at her, felt as if i could do with a better mom at times,nd i feel lik cutting out my hand for having to write the last line, ow many times i have wished she hung up cos there was someone more important on the other line?how many times i must have been mad at her for not letting me go to the outing? how many times for not giving me the fast food i desired? how many times have i shown her the longest face possible for waking me at 4 in the morning to make me study history?nd i kno i still do the same,i will continue to do the same for many more years to come....

but then i think of the kid to come.nd i try, just try to imagine how it would feel to do half as much as mum did nd get the same thing back for return....nd the thought of it makes me want to fight with the yet to be thats probably becos nobody calls me mom now.the day i see that innocent toothless smile..i'll probably learn what it is to forgive, what it is to ignore, what it is not to mind, what it is to love the agony, what it is to live...

what it is to try to pass a strange test everyday...nd nt even be rewarded by it.

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