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The International Writers Magazine: Mothers and Daughters


Time to claim your baggage Mamma
Indrani Bhattacharyya
They are poles apart as far as their respective nature, individuality, perspectives towards life are concerned. If the older one is explosively extrovert, the younger firecracker sternly believes in silence, if one of them announces ‘sun rises in the east’, you can be sure of to expect an exactly opposite opinion coming on your way.

mother

Both are different in every aspect provided the striking physical resemblance they share with each other. And Ohh... Did I tell you this? Together they are the integral part of the purest existing relationship of the universe- a fabulous mother and her equally fascinating daughter.

As a child, quite obviously, the daughter used to get suppressed by the uncontrollable control of her mom. For the little one, at that point of time, given an option, she would have delightedly chosen Hitler over her mother in order to do homework and stuff like that. Poor girl, in absence of such alternative, she was left with no choice. Let me tell you a secret, even today, as an adult, the very thought of mom’s steely looks gives her goose bumps.

We confronted each other over dresses, friends, and all sorts of earthly issues one can think of and of course the biggest one came up with the selection of my life partner. But the last example is the only exception, perhaps will remain so, where she accepted her fault and felt I was right. People say I am stubborn and headstrong; I am deadly curious to know which adjectives they would find appropriate to describe my mom. Even today, every little argument gets followed by a ‘not talking to each other’ phase at least for a week and it’s always me who gives up first and negotiates  to bring back the normal activities.

Two decades have passed by. Then child, a grown up now, also has come a long way. But whenever she closes her eyes while looking back, shadow of her mom sticks to her. I hardly realized before, my mom was a supporting pillar all through my life especially as far as my career moves are concerned. Truly speaking, I went to attend the interview in VIT University which took me all the way to Canada for a PhD, only because of my mother’s constant persuasions. This is just one instance out of zillions.

You are wondering thinking what’s new in this? Isn’t it obvious for a mother to guide her daughter? Yeah. You are absolutely right. There’s nothing great about it. What’s unique in this story is, I was not a rebel, but my mother was. I didn’t understand it that time. She fought against time and all odds, acted as a heavy duty shock absorber so that I got to walk on a smoother surface. She had sacrificed best days of her life to make things better for me.

Changes are inevitable, so is reality. You can clearly see few of her hairs have turned grey; the evergreen fearless lady is breaking down, seeking support & strength from her own daughter. It’s one of those rare moments when a superficially defiant daughter  got transformed into a doting mother of her mother. She won’t ask you ever about your bank balance, she won’t demand any materialistic comfort which you can’t afford, the only thing she longs for is the assurance. She wants to be assured time and again, her eyes get moist everytime her daughter says afffectionately ‘yeah, I am there and I will be there for you mommy’. I feel like holding those soft hands and taking her for a long walk just the way she used to do the same when I was a toddler.

Probably this is the story of many of us who left home to chase their dreams. I can’t give back the priceless time & effort she had devoted to bring me up, to make me what I am today. I just want to tell her, Maa, enough is enough. Let’s stop fighting for this life, let’s look through each other’s eyes and live for tomorrow.

I haven’t seen you for 2 years, couldn’t cuddle with you for 730 days, waiting patiently at the terminal, few more months to take off… Mamma I’m coming home….

©  indrani bhattacharyya     October 2011     
ruu924@gmail.com

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