Friday, May 20, 2011

its not Mother's Day

So its been what, about ten days since Mother's Day? What fun we had no? With all lovey dovey status messages for the mothers, who are not even on facebook, and for the ones who are, must have been shell shocked at seeing "I love you mom" rather than "its raining today, must have rub it in your face pakodas" or say "I hate my life, will someone cry with me and kiss my ass" or even better "I broke up with my girl friend and she cried, oh i am so cool" wala statuses. Don't laugh, even you had put that picture with your mother in it...ok ok, so had I.

But then again, they are mothers, they will probably go gaga with delight if we as much look at them and smile. No, they do not know the smile is actually because you are recalling the phone conversation that happened last night, or wait, maybe they do. Maybe they are just happy that in todays suicidal zamana, their kids are smiling. What blessings from above !

The worst however, is that we know. We know how less it takes for us to make the woman who loves us the most, truly, sincerely happy. You can have pimples on your face, you can wear mismatched socks, you can smell like a pig, you can shave off your hair.... rest assured there is one, one face that will always search for you in a crowd, always think of you in her busiest moments, always worry about you even when you are fifty. Heck, I think even Bill Gates's mom asks him what he had for dinner every night. If he picks up the phone, that is.

I dont have a bloody choice. My mother calls me, hmm... at least thrice a day. And of course, because I know when the next call is going to be, I am rude, insensitive, always busy, irritable... knowing that "arre maa hi to hai, where will she go? she will call only no..". My friends often ask me how is it that I talk to my mother the way I do? Well, I dont know. I take her very much for granted, and I think she has made her peace with that. And I guess, she takes a quiet pride in knowing that all my day's frustrations are seen and heard only by her. You know, special treatment.

My mother is my best friend (oh well!), my living closet of secrets, my conscience, my one and only shade under the sun, my only caller whose phone I can bang down with confidence and not worry about it, because it rings right back :), the only one whose lies I believe in, the only source of hope when the world gets too real, the only person I am scared of, because, one, she can see right through skype's bad bad video connection, and two, because she thinks i am a good girl, and who would want to break that trust, no?

But I hate you Maa. Because you make me want to be like you. And that is not easily happening.


Kuntala said...

maayear protishodh ta bodhoy ektu anyorokom kore nen, jano Sumana. ami ja ja korchhi maayer sathe, amar sontan thik tai tai korbe amar opor.

ar ekta jaygay millona Sumana, ami maayer moto hote parle borte jabo.

Kuntala said...

sorry, ota "maayera" hobe.

sumana said...

are millo to...amio borte jabo, but hote parchi koi?