I wake up everyday either to the sound of my alarm clock, a best friend frantically calling to wake me up or the cleaning woman's loud banging on my door. I wake up, moan, beg this universe for two more minutes of peaceful sleep... And the cycle repeats itself.
I wake up, finally and decisively. Fighting that urge to plop down back on the bed. But no ! I HAVE to get up ! She cleans the room and I watch her. I keep telling her, "Aka, udhar kachra hai... Wahaan theek se kar dijiye na"... I wonder how my mom would stand and make her clean this room. She would keep her hands on her hip and watch her and keep giving her directions... At the end of it she would probably take it from her hand and re do the whole thing herself. Yeah, well that is my mom.
I think of her. Her beautiful face. I never realised how pretty she is until now. I crave to look at her... See her with that frown, and that shy smile every time we gave her a compliment. She is beautiful.
I pick up the bucket and go out to fill hot water. I remember how she used to keep hot water ready for me and my brother when we were in school. Even our uniforms would be neatly ironed and kept out. Yes, we were pampered children. She loved doing that to us.
I go upstairs for breakfast. I don't remember pouring tea for myself or ever packing my own tiffin. It would always be kept out there for me. Every morning from 5 the kitchen would smell of the food my mom would give us for tiffin. Nicely packed in foil with extra spoons, for my scavenger like friends.
I go to college. Completely absorbed in all that is around me. College gets over and I rush back to the pg. I almost call it home now. I rush back because I have clothes to wash before it gets dark. I soumd so much like my mom when I say things like that.
I come back. To an empty room. Where nobody opens the door for me and gives me a glass of water asking me about how my day went... I sit down and recall her face again... I miss her. Her nurturing and looking after us.
I eat my dinner, my eyes watering with the excessive spicy food and I make a face at the semi cooked rice. I just shut up and eat the food. I wish she'd come rushing with a glass of water when my eyes water or choke with the spicy food or I am coughing. The other pg-mates are kind. they offer me their water when they see me suffering and traumatized like that. And the cook kindly says, "kal se kam mirchi dalega".
She calls me up. Every day. I talk to her. I want to tell her how much I miss fighting with her and eating her food. I hate sitting in the pg during a festival. I want her to scream at me to hurry up and take a bath. How much I miss being around her. I miss being home.
I just quietly listen to her voice. She knows I am not fine. She knows it's hard sometimes. She sympathetically asks me, "beta, everything alright ?" I reply, "perfect, mamma. No problem".
I prepare to sleep and close my eyes. Her face comes to my mind again. And slowly in the darkness of the night, the strength gives way. I break down. A tear slowly flows out from the corner of my eye. I wish she was here. I want to be a kid again and run to her.
My friend very rightly had once said, "Home is where mom is.."
I miss you mamma...
