She and She alone

(I have imported this post from one of my other blogs because I think it's a fine piece of work. It might need a little brushing up but here it is....)

Lately, I have been thinking about her a lot.

I haven't spoken to her in a long time. It's been almost 3 weeks since i've heard her voice and only 4 days since I've felt guilty about it.

I'm awfully broke this time of the month and less or no money in my wallet makes me feel insecure in a weird frustrating way.

So this means, I do not have enough balance on my mobile phone to make an international call. There is only so much you can do with Rs. 20 in your cell.

As I'm taking the guilt trip, I subconsciously start thinking about every remote little thing that reminds me of her.

I was in class. I think it was culture and communication or may be not. I realized that it's been a long time since I passed on a note to a friend during a lesson. So, I start scribbling into a piece of paper.

This is how it went:

Me: 'Hi, What's up ? Did you get pasta salad? Is mom back?'
Khushboo: 'Yes ! Mom is back !'
Me: 'Lucky girl! You know what? I want to eat mutton biryani. Not just any. My mom's mutton biryani. She puts so much thought into it. After cooking, she serves me first in the entire family. I switch on the T.V. and browse channels as I put the first morsel into my mouth. I do not realize that she is looking at me in anticipation until she asks, "Well! How is it?" and I look up and say "Oh! Brilliant as ever. I miss your cooking, Ma".'

On the same day, I'm having one of my frequent heart to heart conversations in my room. Only this time, I'm the one who is doing all the talking.
I tell my friend how much I miss my mother. And I start to narrate to her the same incident I wrote in my note. This time with more emotions attached to it. I explain it with the intricate details. I picture the scene in my head while talking.

My mother is standing with the spatula still in her hand, sweating. The look of anticipation is replaced by disappointment. She disappears back in to the kitchen. She comes back with mutton fry and makes sure I get the small tiny pieces as they are my favorite. This time, she doesn't ask me how it tastes.

I realize I've always taken her for granted. How much ever I remind myself to behave better with her, I end up losing my cool easily.

Now as I sit in my room, I look at the sweat dripping from her face because of the heat in the kitchen. I notice the spatula in her hand. She hasn't finished cooking yet. It's just that she did not want to keep me waiting. So, she decided to serve me first. I see the change in her expression, the one of disappointment strikes me hard. Those emotion less words, "Oh! Brilliant as ever. I miss your cooking, Ma". Worse, when she gets me the fried pieces and picks my favorites out for me.

It all comes back to me.

The days that I would come home after school, annoyed by the hot weather and famished state. The lunch wouldn't be ready and I would yell at her for not preparing food on time. While she serves me food after exactly 30 minutes she explains that she wants me to have warm food, not food that's gotten all cold and that's the reason why she likes to start cooking late. And all I gave her is the rolling of my eyes.

What am I ever going to do for the woman who dedicated her entire life to me ?
As she always says, "She lives for her daughters".
How dramatic, I thought then. How much truth there is to it, I think now.

My mom does not have any friends. She did have many at one point but not since a really long time. My mom does not attend parties. My mom does not discuss soap operas over the phone with her friends. My mom is a pure vegetarian. My mom is my first drop of monsoon, first ray of sunshine and first flake of winter.

My mom, well, she is the best woman I have ever seen.