"Maa," the first word that falls out of the mouth of a child is so simple and easy, just like the person herself. Undeniable is the fact across the breadths of this universe that there is no one more loving and caring in this world than a mother. Gods and great scholars have repeatedly referred to her as just another form of the divine self, and so truly and selflessly she has always devoted her commitment towards her duty too.
The world says, she is caring.
Yes she is!
The world says, she sacrifices her comforts.
Yes she does!
The world says, she can feel your suffering.
Yes she can!
The world says, even after you walk out of her womb you are still a part of her.
Yes, we are!
The world says she is always truthful in handling her children.
NO SHE ISN'T!
*SHE IS A LIAR.*
A "REPEATED" LIAR.
A "SINFUL" LIAR.
A "MEAN" LIAR.
The chimes of her bangles:
Whenever I visit home, she sits beside me and slowly sways my hair and pats my head. In a hasty voice she tells me every morning that it is 9 o'clock and I am still sleeping. She shakes me, and pats my back and tells me that father is about to come and I should wake up before he comes. I take her hand off me, her bangles cling in a chime and I shut my eyes even tighter. She walks away and comes back with a cup of tea.
"Chal ab uth ja, aur chai pee le. Bahut late hogya hai," she bribes me.
In a soft voice I ask he what time is it and she says it is 9:30 now. Her watch is faster that Usain Bolt, it shifts by thirty minutes a minimum between two talks. Slowly as I open my eyes, and take the cup in my hands, I see it is 6 o'clock.
Just imagine my disappointment in her. Isn't she a liar?
You've lost your appetite:
She serves me a mug filled with milk in breakfast, with two heavily stuffed parathas. An hour later I would myself chew down something else and just a couple of hours later by mid-day comes lunch (and ironically I am with a full stomach).
She served me a plate full of rice and ghee-chapatis. I eat to the best as I always eat, and then she says, "Oh god! You've lost all your apetite." I wonder if four chapatis, a plate-full of rice, with a bowl of dal and another of veg-mix, with two added green chillis, a ball of onion, probably two tomatoes, and two slices of pickle means a lost appetite, than what would having an appetite mean? I mean seriously!
It doesn't end here, it goes on- both her ironic remarks and my filled stomach. After a few snacks in the evening on her insistence, my stomach goes full and has no room for dinner. Then at dinner I barely eat a chapati or two and then she says to father, "See how little he eats, just one chapati." Guilty as charged, and there is nothing that I can do to prove her wrong.
Implies, she is a good strategist as well.
The aunt who wants to see me:
When I go out with friends and the night sky falls, she becomes worried and restless. She calls again and again after every few minutes and insists that I come back soon. If she is sure that I might be late, she would name some guest, or aunt who has come to meet me, and that my presence is immediately wanted back home. I would leave back for her, and when I reach home she tells me, "You're so late, she just left."
The pickle jar and the torn blue-jeans:
As I pack my bags for my way back, she keeps things after things and I keep reducing them. I tell, it's getting heavier and it'll break my shoulders, and she says in two short words, "Auto karlena." I still take out things, and try to make it less heavier.
"I don't need so much of pickle," I tell her.
"Arey it will last for one month, and I'll keep more when you come next."
In an angry tone I tell her, "I have Junglee friends, this will end up in less than a week, so there is no point in taking so much."
"Arey sabko khilana na, leja. Voh bhi to kuch laate honge tere liye."
"Kuch ni late voh, aap bhi mat rakho." I try my best to make as less luggage as possible.
Then she slowly agrees to reduce it and tells me to go out in the meantime and bow my head to the distant Devi Maa temple from the roof top. I go out and return, and in the meanwhile she has packed my bag.
"Here, see how light it is," she says trying to lift it with all difficulties. I smile at her.
"I have reduced the pickle, don't worry." She says once again.
I smile at her in half belief. She assures me once again and I pick up the bag in testing mode, it does feel a bit lighter. I take the dust of her feet and leave. She waves a bye.
Somehow I manage to carry that heavy bag to my room, and when I unzip it it seems as if I have mistakenly exchanged it with someone else in the bus. Out comes the full jar of pickle, not a piece less. Another similar jar filled upto its rim with desi-ghee, that I hadn't seen her keep. Some two kilograms of apples knotted in a polythene, that I wonder when she had kept. Another poly with some half a kilogram of Matthi, which I had seen my sister making it for herself. Then there is a box filled with sweets. Last I unzip all pockets to search for the blue jeans that had torn knees, which I had insisted her to keep. That's the only thing which she didn't keep!
And guess what would she say over the phone?
"Is it not there? Let me check, haan.... Oh! I forgot."
The world says, she is caring.
Yes she is!
The world says, she sacrifices her comforts.
Yes she does!
The world says, she can feel your suffering.
Yes she can!
The world says, even after you walk out of her womb you are still a part of her.
Yes, we are!
The world says she is always truthful in handling her children.
NO SHE ISN'T!
*SHE IS A LIAR.*
A "REPEATED" LIAR.
A "SINFUL" LIAR.
A "MEAN" LIAR.
The chimes of her bangles:
Whenever I visit home, she sits beside me and slowly sways my hair and pats my head. In a hasty voice she tells me every morning that it is 9 o'clock and I am still sleeping. She shakes me, and pats my back and tells me that father is about to come and I should wake up before he comes. I take her hand off me, her bangles cling in a chime and I shut my eyes even tighter. She walks away and comes back with a cup of tea.
"Chal ab uth ja, aur chai pee le. Bahut late hogya hai," she bribes me.
In a soft voice I ask he what time is it and she says it is 9:30 now. Her watch is faster that Usain Bolt, it shifts by thirty minutes a minimum between two talks. Slowly as I open my eyes, and take the cup in my hands, I see it is 6 o'clock.
Just imagine my disappointment in her. Isn't she a liar?
You've lost your appetite:
She serves me a mug filled with milk in breakfast, with two heavily stuffed parathas. An hour later I would myself chew down something else and just a couple of hours later by mid-day comes lunch (and ironically I am with a full stomach).
She served me a plate full of rice and ghee-chapatis. I eat to the best as I always eat, and then she says, "Oh god! You've lost all your apetite." I wonder if four chapatis, a plate-full of rice, with a bowl of dal and another of veg-mix, with two added green chillis, a ball of onion, probably two tomatoes, and two slices of pickle means a lost appetite, than what would having an appetite mean? I mean seriously!
It doesn't end here, it goes on- both her ironic remarks and my filled stomach. After a few snacks in the evening on her insistence, my stomach goes full and has no room for dinner. Then at dinner I barely eat a chapati or two and then she says to father, "See how little he eats, just one chapati." Guilty as charged, and there is nothing that I can do to prove her wrong.
Implies, she is a good strategist as well.
The aunt who wants to see me:
When I go out with friends and the night sky falls, she becomes worried and restless. She calls again and again after every few minutes and insists that I come back soon. If she is sure that I might be late, she would name some guest, or aunt who has come to meet me, and that my presence is immediately wanted back home. I would leave back for her, and when I reach home she tells me, "You're so late, she just left."
The pickle jar and the torn blue-jeans:
As I pack my bags for my way back, she keeps things after things and I keep reducing them. I tell, it's getting heavier and it'll break my shoulders, and she says in two short words, "Auto karlena." I still take out things, and try to make it less heavier.
"I don't need so much of pickle," I tell her.
"Arey it will last for one month, and I'll keep more when you come next."
In an angry tone I tell her, "I have Junglee friends, this will end up in less than a week, so there is no point in taking so much."
"Arey sabko khilana na, leja. Voh bhi to kuch laate honge tere liye."
"Kuch ni late voh, aap bhi mat rakho." I try my best to make as less luggage as possible.
Then she slowly agrees to reduce it and tells me to go out in the meantime and bow my head to the distant Devi Maa temple from the roof top. I go out and return, and in the meanwhile she has packed my bag.
"Here, see how light it is," she says trying to lift it with all difficulties. I smile at her.
"I have reduced the pickle, don't worry." She says once again.
I smile at her in half belief. She assures me once again and I pick up the bag in testing mode, it does feel a bit lighter. I take the dust of her feet and leave. She waves a bye.
Somehow I manage to carry that heavy bag to my room, and when I unzip it it seems as if I have mistakenly exchanged it with someone else in the bus. Out comes the full jar of pickle, not a piece less. Another similar jar filled upto its rim with desi-ghee, that I hadn't seen her keep. Some two kilograms of apples knotted in a polythene, that I wonder when she had kept. Another poly with some half a kilogram of Matthi, which I had seen my sister making it for herself. Then there is a box filled with sweets. Last I unzip all pockets to search for the blue jeans that had torn knees, which I had insisted her to keep. That's the only thing which she didn't keep!
And guess what would she say over the phone?
"Is it not there? Let me check, haan.... Oh! I forgot."
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