She hurried out of kitchen only to stumble over a wet towel thrown carelessly on the floor. She hissed under her breath angrily and wiping her eyebrows with her sleeves, started cleaning up the hall. She glanced at the clock- 3 in the afternoon. She hadn't had lunch yet, a cup of coffee she had made for herself lay ignored on the table. She sighed sadly and slumped into a chair eyeing the clothes that needed folding, the books that needed to be stacked on shelves.
Her own reflection stared back at her from a mirror on a wardrobe. She had aged so quickly, she thought. She pushed back a strand of grey hair but the prominent web of wrinkles on her face couldn't be hidden. She looked at her palms, the skin was shriveled and pale. She felt like an old woman. Old, grumpy and bitter.
Her life was as plain and mundane as the pages of Economic Times spread on the sofa. All day she folded clothes, cooked, did the dishes and flipped through the TV channels while waiting for her husband and son to return home.
They had their own lives. Their laptops, their work, studies, phone calls... Busy lives with no place for her, except when they needed something done by her. She knew they were busier than she was but a smile or a hug could have made her day. It would just take a couple of seconds, she thought.
A bundle of brushes, a few old bottles of dried colors and the paintings she had made several years back lied at the back of the shelf hidden behind the pile of thick books her husband read on weekends and her son's trophies. Her place in the house was so tiny, she thought. The back of the shelf. The volume of one cubic foot. Almost non-existent.
She burst into tears. Her bitter emotions were flowing uncontrollably today. What was she living for! She didn't have a career like her husband had nor did she have friends like her son had. While her husband brought home the wads of notes every month and her son proudly talked about his achievements in college, all she did was to cook for them and flutter around them handing them their handkerchiefs they kept forgetting while leaving home.
"Mom?" he called out from the door that just opened. Windswept hair, tired face and that same huge forehead like her own...
She hurriedly wiped her tears and forced a smile.
"You made sheera!??" he exclaimed, delighted.
She nodded.
"Awesome!" he laughed, "You are the best, mom!" He put her arms around her.
It was then she realized, where her treasure lied. In the moment when she kissed his huge forehead for the first time she held him in her hands, her life wasn't her own anymore. In the moment when she wasn't just an ordinary woman, the moment she became a mother...
Hers was a 24x7 job. With no holiday. Ever. Plus she never got paid. Still, without her those four walls weren't a home. Without her everything would just crumble down.
She ruffled his hair and tiptoed to kiss his forehead. He had grown so much, already standing tall in front of her.
"What?" he asked, puzzled.
"You won't understand." she said hoarsely, smiling.
- Inspired by a mother I had a fortune to meet through someone else's eyes...
Her own reflection stared back at her from a mirror on a wardrobe. She had aged so quickly, she thought. She pushed back a strand of grey hair but the prominent web of wrinkles on her face couldn't be hidden. She looked at her palms, the skin was shriveled and pale. She felt like an old woman. Old, grumpy and bitter.
Her life was as plain and mundane as the pages of Economic Times spread on the sofa. All day she folded clothes, cooked, did the dishes and flipped through the TV channels while waiting for her husband and son to return home.
They had their own lives. Their laptops, their work, studies, phone calls... Busy lives with no place for her, except when they needed something done by her. She knew they were busier than she was but a smile or a hug could have made her day. It would just take a couple of seconds, she thought.
A bundle of brushes, a few old bottles of dried colors and the paintings she had made several years back lied at the back of the shelf hidden behind the pile of thick books her husband read on weekends and her son's trophies. Her place in the house was so tiny, she thought. The back of the shelf. The volume of one cubic foot. Almost non-existent.
She burst into tears. Her bitter emotions were flowing uncontrollably today. What was she living for! She didn't have a career like her husband had nor did she have friends like her son had. While her husband brought home the wads of notes every month and her son proudly talked about his achievements in college, all she did was to cook for them and flutter around them handing them their handkerchiefs they kept forgetting while leaving home.
"Mom?" he called out from the door that just opened. Windswept hair, tired face and that same huge forehead like her own...
She hurriedly wiped her tears and forced a smile.
"You made sheera!??" he exclaimed, delighted.
She nodded.
"Awesome!" he laughed, "You are the best, mom!" He put her arms around her.
It was then she realized, where her treasure lied. In the moment when she kissed his huge forehead for the first time she held him in her hands, her life wasn't her own anymore. In the moment when she wasn't just an ordinary woman, the moment she became a mother...
Hers was a 24x7 job. With no holiday. Ever. Plus she never got paid. Still, without her those four walls weren't a home. Without her everything would just crumble down.
She ruffled his hair and tiptoed to kiss his forehead. He had grown so much, already standing tall in front of her.
"What?" he asked, puzzled.
"You won't understand." she said hoarsely, smiling.
- Inspired by a mother I had a fortune to meet through someone else's eyes...
