Wednesday, May 15, 2013
And so I did not wish you on this mother’s day, it wasn't that I forgot thanks to the numerous mothers’ day shares flooding my face book wall. It was only because I did not feel like wishing you this time.
Gone are the days of handmade greeting and surprise kisses, for it was different between us then.
Some call it generation gap, you call it pride and difference, and I am yet to figure it out.
Even now, I do wake up to your voice, only the tone differs, and I end up crying “Not again.”
Instead of the wishes and kisses, it’s all about complaints and worries. Either it is the haircut that I chose and you disliked, pending clothes in the laundry or girl next door is good at house chores.
It begins with a shrewd “you are so irresponsible” and ends with a hesitant “why do you even bother”, exchange of rude faces and silent cries.
It’s not about the extra time spent in college or frequent outings with friend, it’s about the time we could not give to each other.
And then I tell you, I have grown up to take care of myself whereas you are busy checking if I have ironed the uniform or left the wallet in the case.
It’s about who can argue better and not about the apologies and care expected.
If it’s dove for me, it’s Pantene for you. If it’s star world for me, it’s Star Plus for you. If it’s socializing for me, it’s a mere waste of time for you.
It was always good mummy; it is still going fine, only if we spoke. Most of the days, it’s either a hunger strike for me or a speechless day for you.
No wonder I have assigned special ringtone for you on my cell phone, while some of my friends mock it as the warning siren.
For I would not have wished you even today, if it was for the argument we had in the morning.
It wasn't about the yoga class you wanted me to join or the guitar class I chose, it was about the food I ignored at the table and left for college without informing you.
It was about the missing goodbye from you, and the way you rechecked me to confirm the time I would return from college
I could not resist that drop of tear, which came out of the unexpected silence in the train compartment and the suppressed feelings within me.
It was mother’s day a few days ago, and is your birthday few days later. Every time you irritated me, I cancelled and replanned your birthday gift.
And then I saw her, She wore a dirty red stained gown with her face reflecting anger and despair,
It was as fierce and disturbing for me as it was for the kid in her lap, Seated near the left door side, she sung old Marathi verses to beg for her living.
But then it was very fine until I saw her pinch the little kid, hardly few months old. Soon the silence in the compartment was disturbed by the loud cry of the kid, with her begging in a pitier tone for the Kids hunger.
For a moment, I was freezed; I saw ladies dropping coins for the kid, some even asking her to pacify the kid.
All I could remember was your worried face whenever I was in trouble, and then the warning siren woke me up
Your text message beeped on my phone.
“Don’t forget to text me when you reach college, give me a miscall if you need a recharge. Do not skip lunch. There are extra sandwiches in the Tiffin, and the guitar class begins on Monday”.
I could not smile nor call you back, but I felt very happy for I wasn’t deprived like the helpless Kid, Happy mother’s day Amma, Won’t be cancelling the birthday plans I got for you.
You may not be the best mother in the world, but I am thankful you are ‘my’ mother
‘I am writing a Tribute to Mom in association with Parentous.com‘
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Disclaimer: Pure work of fiction, Read many a articles, came across many videos of brutal SriLankan genocide, that prompted for this post.
Though we were warned to stay indoors, the sore disquieting aura that packed the basement of the Ship couldn't be tolerated anymore. Moving out of the crowded room wasn’t tough, for it was much tougher to withstand the scene outside. The horizon in shades of red, dusk had just dawned in. Sunset was never this painful. For along with the sun, it was me biding bye to my homeland.
A place that seemed to be home does not belong to us anymore. Call it violence or hatred, for the language you speak, for the colour of your skin, they disowned the human in themselves, Bloodshed and vigor spread every where
Some dead, some lost, some perished, whereas some silently endured. And it was us who decided to escape. And then he promised a safe escape. Money was indeed and question, but it answered the love for life. We called it an escape, whereas they called it a retreat.
Sri Lankans were no more Sri Lankans, but Tamil Sri Lankans. Scapegoats and victims, Food for news.
“All step inside, they are near”
Someone dragged me into the basement, door locked, all that could be heard was a series of bang and hits.
Food was inadequate, to last a few days’ supply until we reached the shore, the dry foodstuff were packed in rag newspapers, And one such packet , bound the news of my country .
In bits and pieces, I read the news of the death of many a fellow brethren, innocent kids and ill fated women
The banged into, a close look and then everything was quick. Few of them did escape into the vast sea, far better than a brutal death. Not very soon, did we realize we realize the cease. Like the other helpless souls in their custody, back to my vey homeland.
The return journey was very much determined and crystal clear. For I had no regrets. If it is to die, it’s there and not as a refugee.