This Sunday is Mothers’ Day. I am not very sure if these days hold any relevance for me. In general I do not need a special day to talk about my mother. I do not need a special day to make her feel blessed. But, I think I need this day to think of her and the relationship we have always shared, in sheer light. I could have written this in the form of a letter but I didn’t want to do that because I think that is not quite required at the moment. I’ll let it pass for now.
Mom and I have always shared a love-hate relationship. We are two very different individuals with different expectations from each other. None of us has been perfect all these years, but we have evolved and reached this stage where we try to understand each other and stand up for each other. I really appreciate her on that count. She stood up for me, almost all the time. When I was small, I usually hated her because she never understood. She was one of the strictest moms around. Almost every single day she would reprimand me and hit me, sometimes for the wrong reasons. My father always saved me from her wrath. I loved him. I guess that’s how a child’s emotions contour: from the childhood he/she has had. As children we tend to easily form opinions for and against somebody, even if that somebody is our own mother. She really did hurt me a lot, without even knowing that all of this was messing up with my spirit and psyche and the person I was becoming.
Years passed. I grew up. We started being a little more interactive and accommodating of each other. I didn’t love her as much but I didn’t even hate her. It was just ‘okay’. There was this phase in my life when I was utterly depressed. My mother had a hand in both the things, equally: She made me get worse and she also made me get better. I don’t know if sharing the entire story is a good idea or not, but I truly suffered the tribulations. She would do every little thing to upset me and she didn’t consider the pain I was enduring. I despised her more than ever at that time. Trust me; I never thought I could love her. I felt abandoned and dejected.
More years passed. Mom changed. Dad changed too. I am not sure about myself; I probably tried to become more constructive, amidst the struggle of being myself and of belonging where I belonged. However, I started getting close to her. I shared a part of my sentiments with her, a part of my dreams, my ideas and opinions. There came a time when my mother saved me from my father’s wrath, every now and then. Life’s a vicious circle. She helped me live my life. She was there. She is there, probably as one of my strongest supports today.
I find my subsistence very intricate. When I love people, I love them unconditionally and altruistically. I could give my life for my Dad, for my best friend and for other people who adorned my being. All through these years I came to realize that the people I loved, hurt me the most. Perhaps, I never received as much as I offered, in terms of love, attention, dedication, friendship and life. The person who is still standing by me and my aspirations is the one I loathed for more than half of my life: My mother.
Today, as I write this, I wouldn’t assert that she is the best mother in this world. I’ll be more pragmatic in letting you know that she could have been better; but I owe a lot to her. She made me the person I am today. She taught me to be grounded, to concentrate on the internal beauty more than a superficial identity, to spread righteousness, to adore people, to believe in God. She helped me grow up. Likewise, I helped her grow, as a mother. Our bond has had its own blemishes and scars but what’s more evident today is the intimacy and support: a suave facet of our being. I am glad we made it. I am glad we worked on it together to mature as a daughter, a mother, a friend. That’s why I’d say, this Mothers’ Day is special. It holds a lot more than love.
‘Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
P.S: You got me tears.’