Long back I had once written a poem for my mother. When narrated to her, she liked it, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to appreciate it with all her heart. The reason pinched me bad, but I couldn’t really give in accept it. For her, it weren’t those words that mattered, she complained she wanted to see the love in action, and questioned if I really loved her enough.
Now, I know she didn’t mean it all and obviously knows of the undeniable love. I believe she said that on purpose to make me realize her worth. That discussion had actually hurt me back then, but I have come to comprehend that she has all the rights to state that out. Just like her, even I on numerous occasions have spit out nonsense like “You don’t love me”, whenever my sense dived in temporary coma. That when I clearly know no one can love me more and better.
And so, since then I have been on a hunt of ways to prove that I really meant the poem. I wanted to tell that my expressions always come out better in words, but that wasn’t going to help.
Sadly, the brat in me always overtakes the good girl :-|. Still, I love to assume that she knows.
And all it took to make me understand what she meant, was her absence from home for a couple of weeks recently. She has been away earlier too, but somehow what struck me this time, never did before. I actually wanted to do the household chores in a better managed and clean way this time, which is so unlike me. So this one morning, I felt myself being drilled beneath a whole pile of chores. The younger one from my two elder brothers was supposed to leave for his college in another city. And he wants his food perfect, as in it should be sufficient, no compromise on that. The elder one had to leave for his work. And grandfather sat in his room, waiting for the breakfast. Now, I suddenly found myself webbed, as I couldn’t really pick what to do first. Breakfast for three (excluding me, I never bother to count myself :P), lunchbox for two, another lunchbox for one, and then the mandatory routine lunch. I felt my brain jam. Even though my brother was there helping me pack his lunch for the journey, that didn’t help me not to panic. And that is when I was missed our saviour. Mother. And soon I was drifted in this large pool of realization where I wondered how she manages to do it, every time! And she is doing it from the time when was younger than what I am now. ‘How?’ is the question that is going to bug me for long now, I am sure I can never be like her.
P.S.: This is one of the many experiences that have been important for some healthy realizations on what a mother is. And now I know, a poem can never explain that enough.