What are you doing? What are you eating? Where are you going? Whose call was it? What was he saying? My mother and her questions were irritating me. It was not that I didn’t like her. But I certainly didn’t like her incessant running commentary over every thing. That day I was watching a movie on TV. She came and sat next to me on the sofa. ‘Is that Deepika Padukone?’ She asked me referring to an actress on the screen, who by no stretch of imagination bore any resemblance with Deepika Padukone.
I have retired as a teacher. I have been speaking for all these years and it has become a habit.’ She told me once. Her logic was that having served a long tenure as a teacher, she was accustomed to giving long, boring lectures. But why I was her victim? Because I didn’t have a room of my own? Because though earning in lakhs I was still staying with my mother? Didn’t I wish to have a space of my own? I never went out with my friends for a vacation or even for a drink. It was always my family for me. But now my mother was making my BP shoot all the time with her over interference in my life.
‘Why don’t you join some club. May be a pensioners’ club or a women’s club or a bhajan mandali. Women of your age spend time in religious activities and you have no other work but to irate me in some way or the other.’ I told her one fine morning.
‘Do I irate you?’
‘Yes you do and I have been suffering it for all these years.’ I said, banged the door and went for a walk. I could feel the rise in my body temperature. I was perspirating. I walked very fast as if I was in a hurry to run away from my home, from my mother. When I felt tired I sat for some time on a deserted bus stop. Finally having no other place to go I returned home. It was evening and my mother was sitting in the dark.
‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’ I asked her and switched on the lights.
‘Nothing I irritate you all the time. Now I have decided that I wont speak much.’ She said.
‘I guess you must have resolved this for hundredth time.’
‘But this time I am going to follow it scrupulously.’ She said.
‘What’s that in your hands?’ She asked me.
‘I have got samosas for you like it.’ I said as I placed the samosas from the packet into her plates.
‘Why don’t you have one?’ She offered me her samosa.
‘You know very well that I hate samosas.’
‘Then too you brought it for me?’ She asked.
‘Yes, I got it because you like it. I got it because....’
‘You love me.’ She said completing my sentence.
‘Yes, but only when you don’t irritate me.’ I said and both of us had a very good laugh.
“I’m blogging about my #MagicOfWarmth moment at BlogAdda in association with Parachute Advansed Hot Oil”