She held my hand tight when I finally made it home. There was this sudden energy and happiness in her eyes than I had remembered. She had a knife in her other hand, which she had forgotten to leave in the hurry to see me. Had it been someone else they would have been freaked. She seemeed to be talking a lot as she dragged my heavy bag into the house. I wasn’t listening. Or nothing was registering. I was back home to see mom and dad after a whole 2 years.
She hurried away to the kitchen to make me something. Whatever it was, it smelled good. I sank onto the couch and took a deep breath of pure homely air. The result was tranquilizing. A few minutes and mom brought food onto the table. For a few moments, I remembered sitting in an old god forsaken, fly clad hotel where I would order some chappathi and some kinda curry that had only water and chilli powder in it. The guy at the hotel would drop the plate right onto the table like he was giving fodder to the cattle. I felt someone tickling my ear and snapped out of my vision. “You started off dreaming in front of the plate? You’ll never change will you?” Two mins I was home and my mom was gonna lecture me. “No ma. I wont change. I don’t want you to change either.” I was somehow glad she didn’t pick the emotion in it. I couldn’t help smiling as I chewed the first class food.
All the years I was with her, I never found time to talk to her while having food. I was busy watching some dum movie I had seen a hundred times. Today, well, I had all the time in the world. I was never a mom’s kid kinda guy. I grew up being rough with her. At least till about teenage when I seemed to be developing some senses. As a child I suffered from acute bronchitis. I never could run around like the other kids of my age. And my temper tantrums had something to do with my health. I was always sick and alongside, angry. Angry when I couldn’t do anything other kids did. Angry that I had to take the same medicines for years, they tasted sick. Mom would have to sit with me in her arms all night coz I couldn’t lie down and sleep with the breathing problem. After 8th grade, I seemed to get better.
Me and mom used to fight a lot. Once when I was in 4th grade, I sprayed glass cleaner solution into her eyes when she was coming to beat me. Given my health I was never beaten much at home. I guess it was something I needed :) One of our fights one day ended with me throwing away her gold bangle from the balcony of my house. She found out later on and was really upset. It was her dad’s gift to her before he died. I remember promising her a whole jewelery set on my first salary. It’s still pending though and she keeps teasing me with it. :) Along the years, she became my friend. I didn’t know why but I always would end up telling my secrets to her no matter how much I resolved not to. Only thing I couldn't tell her was love matter. She always would tell me, you should love the girl you marry and that should be your first love. I still manage to tell her about girls I like and she goes like "Viji" with the typical "You're- never- gonna- listen- to- me" kinda look.Viji is my pathetic pet name by the way, my parents and bro find it cute.
I always loved bugging her in the kitchen. I loved pinching her softly on the arm while she had her hands full and couldn’t do anything back. I Would go up behind her and freak her out. Once I freaked her so much that her reflexes used the frying pan she had in her hand on my head. In my 12th grade I would go and cling to her from behind and bite her gently when she was making chappathi. (Pssst.... I still do that.. dont tell anyone :P ) I was always called a bug but I knew she loved the attention.
It was somehow my way of making up for the rogue I was as a kid... And yeah, am not saying this coz she’s my mom, she’s a strong woman. Never seen her cry much in my life. Maybe once or twice. Even when I was leaving for higher studies it never seemed to shake her. Though I knew she would be lonely. Dad would be away for work almost the whole day. I would just meet my parents once a year when I would come back home to Saudi Arabia (dad works here), maybe share just about a week or two and have to leave again. Over the years, she seemed to have developed the art of talking to herself while cooking, while shopping, almost everywhere she went...
I felt a soft hand ruffling my hair as I slept off on the couch. I lazily got up and unpacked my bag showing her the massaging oil and stuff that I had bought for her. She's been suffering from arthritis since I can remember... Applying the oil to her leg was the fun part, it was the best way of making her sit somewhere and talking. Or she would always be running about the house cleaning or doing the laundry or cooking. We had one of these sessions almost everyday when I was at school. Now it was once a year when I would get to come home...
Days went by... A month has almost passed and I’m getting ready to leave again. Just a handful of days now. By the way, dad is equally close to me but I just wanted to write about mom this once for the hardships and pain I have put her through. I guess all the mom’s reading this would probably be thinking, “Trouble? That’s what kids are for!” Kinda true when I think of it. Hehe :) I haven't ever said ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ to mom. I don’t remember having told her that I love her either, though she sure knows I do. I’m always this hard guy who never shows what he feels to her. Sometimes its for the good. She knows I can handle life.
I don't understand why I can’t tell her. Maybe I’m simply not built that way. Or maybe I will do so someday… But I guess when I leave home this time, I’ll make sure she reads what I’ve written about her… :)
