Mother

‘You don’t understand me’ I scream at her.
She stares at me aghast!
Hurt, she probably thinks
‘My! You grew so fast’.

Tears well in my eyes,
Not because she berated me;
But because I have rent the heart
That lulled me to sleep
As I lay cocooned beneath it!

‘I am stupid’ I chide myself, ‘to think she could detest me’!
Why even before I was formed in her,
She knew I was making my way
Into her life, her heart,
And she thanked God for me!

My temper tantrums she bore with a smile,
A smile so gentle yet firm!
When in anger I slammed the door of the fridge
Against her hand, and it bled,
All she did was bear the pain in silence
And put down her head.
She didn’t hand me the toy I demanded
As hotly as a three year old would,
Neither meted out punishment
Such an act deserved!

The night I slipped on the newly polished floor
And blood poured from a deep gash in my head,
She spent a sleepless night by my side
And did her best to stem the flow!
‘What courage,’ I think as I look back,
‘She had to bring me and my sisters up with little assistance’.
‘What courage she had in the face of so many trying times!
I would have crumbled under their weight!’

When at a young age measles racked my delicate frame
I slept for a week, lost in a world of delirium,
Too weak and small to understand what went on.
She patiently fed me and wiped the goo from my eye
And prayed that I would survive!

Years rolled by, I grew strong and rash.
And with my mother’s stringency I felt abashed.
She corrected my wrongs,
A little too harshly I thought.

Then I needed a friend, a confidante,
But the wall, it never came down!
The distance only seemed to grow.
I depended on her for everything,
But on her shoulder I could never ease my woe.

The friction only grew;
At the slightest provocation at each other we flew
In a rage, spewing words that made their way
Into our hearts like daggers, honed and thirsty for revenge!

She remains an enigma to me,
Stiffly formal, exacting, stingy with words of appreciation,
Hard to please, a stickler for rules and everything that’s right!
Ceaselessly critical, level-headed, petite yet so strong — emotionally,
Physically, mentally and spiritually!
I sometimes think ‘Does she rejoice in her third daughter,
Or think otherwise.’
‘Does she wish I was bright, and mature and wise?’

Maybe I’m being very harsh on her,
But the lessons I learnt on her lap are many.
‘Never waste food’, her voice rings in my ear
Every time I think I’ve had enough and can eat no more!

Apart from her looks, I’ve also inherited her generous heart!
‘Think wisely before you spend’, she cautions.
But I’ve learnt more through her actions —
Give as much as you can, even if it hurts
For the reward, if not here but in heaven,
Is sure to be great!

She is like any other mum, yet so unique!

I blush furiously when I think of the times
I wished my mum was like the other mums,
Stylish, broad-minded, a friend I could rely on in all seasons.
I often wonder what went wrong.

But as I ponder over it, it pains me to realize
That while my mother made so many attempts to bridge the gap
I shunned her, scorned every effort she made to be my friend.
Thought it impossible to let her into my world!

But she sat there in the stands,
Never giving up, always determined, always there,
Watching me as I played one game of life after another,
Pained every time I fell hard or lost, and
Exulting in my every win!
She cheered me on!
She still sits there on the stands,
Judgmental, yet encouraging,
Waiting for that break
When she can jump over the railing and run up to me
And say, ‘Look at you, all disheveled and worn out,
But you have emerged a fine woman,
And I love you. Thank you for being so
Much a part of my life!
Thank you!’