Momma, Dear Momma of Mine

"Yes Amma, I have had my coffee.  Yes, I have eaten my lunch.  Now you eat that food up.  That is for you".

I look into your face and try to coax you to eat.  Suddenly the tables seem to have turned.  You are my child, I am your mother.  I feel a wave of protectiveness towards you.  I want to pick you up, cuddle you like a baby.  You are so frail my Momma.  You look like a little bird which will fly off on the wings of the slightest breeze.

But somethings do not change.  "Have you had your food"? you ask me as soon as you see me.  Even through the mists of your foggy mind you do not forget your concern for my well being.  We sit together.  You try to tell me something.  It comes out no louder than a hoarse whisper.  I try to listen.  What do you want to tell me Ma?  You don't remember words.  You make up your own.  Some words you remember.  But the stories you tell are also made up - situations of your own making.  You live in a world of your own.  No one can enter there.  We sit and look at each other.  I allow you to examine my palm.  You trace a design on it.  You examine the floral pattern on my dress.  You start pleating my kurta.  I just watch you.  I love it when you touch me.  Every moment with you is a treasure.  Pity I can't spend more time with you.

I get up to leave.  "You don't have to go.  Sleep here" you say.  It breaks my heart.  "No Momma, I can't stay.  I have to leave.  I shall come back soon.  I must go home before it is too dark".  "OK" you say.  "Go carefully".  Even through the haze your concern for me surfaces.  It has become ingrained into your psyche.

I am part of your Ma.  50% of me is made up of you.

My mind harks back to my earliest memories.  It's a hot summer afternoon.  You and I are lying on the floor. I wake up and look around.  You look at me, smile and pat my tummy. :-)  

You are eating your lunch.  I toddle up to you, point at your plate and demand brinjal.  "You have already eaten your lunch" you tell me.  "I want more" I demand.

You wake me up at 6.30 in the morning.  You have been up much earlier and been cooking to pack lunch for me.  I have to catch my school bus at 8 a.m.  I get up take my brush and hold it in my mouth and doze off.  You come and shake me awake.  I start eating some toothpaste.  I love the taste.  You chide me and get me through the routine.  I sit in the corner and await the hot phulkas which I have for my breakfast.  You pack my lunch box, check if I have taken everything, plait my hair and come along with me to drop me off at the bus stop.  

I come back in the evening around 4.30.  You have some snacks awaiting me.  You have made them yourself.  Not for you the convenience of ready cooked snacks from the shops.  Then comes my homework.  You sit down with me and ensure that I finish whatever homework there is for the day.  Sometimes you ask whether you are studying or I.  You have literally held my hand and taught me to write.  You have made me do page after page of cursive writing to make me write neatly.  You are a stickler for neatness.  It shows in my written work even today.  

"I was not allowed to finish my studies" you tell me.  "Study well.  Study as much as you want.  We won't stop you.  Achieve whatever goals you want".  You want me to have what you could not.  The fact that you were made to stop studying to get married at 20 still rankles in your mind.

Dinner is served and then you and dad clean the vegetables for the next morning.  

Mom, I remember you grinding batter for idlis on the traditional stone.  I remember you grinding rice, masalas etc on the stone.  I remember you and the maid actually scrubbing the floor with soap and water. Your kitchen was always spic and span.  How did you manage mom?  You were prone to frequent head aches and had a bad back.  That did not prevent you from slogging from morn to night.  We had a stream of visitors at home.  You took care of them without batting an eyelid and loved having them over.  How did you do it ma?

You helped raise your grand-children till quite a late age.  You looked after dad like a nurse when he was laid up in bed with cancer.  Day and night you slogged looking after him, washing sheets ........  You yourself were no spring chicken at that time.

Dad passed on.  You carried on with a stiff upper lip.  You refused to come and stay with either of your daughters.  You insisted on living on your own.  Why Ma?  Loneliness finally got you.  The dreaded "A" hit you.  

Now you need to be looked after all the time.  All your life you only gave.  Life always has a way of balancing things out.  It is now your turn to take.  You need to be cared for.  

I look into your face and try to coax you to eat.  Suddenly the tables seem to have turned.  You are my child, I am your mother.  I feel a wave of protectiveness towards you.  I want to pick you up, cuddle you like a baby.  You are so frail my Momma.  You look like a little bird which will fly off on the wings of the slightest breeze.

I love you my darling Momma.  More than words can ever say.  Thank you Momma, for being my Momma.