Mother’s Day

It’s Mother’s Day.

This is the first year that my little girl is old enough to form the words and wish me. Being game to celebrate anything right now, at my husbands prompting, she came running to me and said “Happy Mama’s day!” before covering me in baby kisses. I don’t need anything else.

When I was growing up, I don’t think I ever wished my mother on Mother’s Day. I don’t think I even knew when it was and so today, three decades later, wishing her feels awkward. Now as has become my way, instead of saying how I feel, I’m going to try and type it out.

Thank you. For being patient but still putting me in my place every now and then. For listening to me complain but taking my side only when I’m not at fault. For allowing me to make my life choices but still choosing my outfits for functions. For making all the sacrifices and yet encouraging me to take the paths you didn’t. For being the baker-mom that caused every other kid I knew to envy me. For giving me your recipe book. For making me believe that I can do whatever it is I dream and still never pushing too hard. For enduring even when it must have been so hard. For being my guidepost.

I love you and if I am half the mother to Aarti as you were and still are to us, Aarti is sure one lucky girl.

Happy Mother’s Day Ma!

XOXO

Magic

Norwegian wood“, said the man with a grizzled beard and thick eye-glasses as he ran his hand across the polished surface of the dining table lovingly. “It’s a bit worn and some of the woodwork seems to have lost its original luster, but it’s been in my family for ages. I hate to part with it…but such are the times. Between you and me young lady, I’ve always felt there was a bit of magic in this wood…”

She didn’t really believe in things magical and mystical but she was drawn to the sincerity in the mans voice and without really thinking about it, it found its way into her home.

That was over five decades ago. Over time, that table had grown into a favourite destination in her home. It was where family and friends sat down to enjoy hearty meals together. It was where silent tears had fallen and hours had been spent laughing. It was where counsel was given, comfort received and prayers whispered.

Perhaps that old man had been right. Perhaps the table was magic. For it was around that table that she had been made privy to the secret of a happy life – Eat, Pray, Love.

******

The books:
-Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
-Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda and it got featured this week!

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Perfect

They were madly in love.

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So, when he dropped subtle hints about things he wanted her to do differently, she made changes without batting an eyelash. She became exactly what he desired, and the changes? Minor adjustments in their relationship.

But, he still walked out on her. Leaving her sobbing on her doorstep. He said he was unhappy. That she was so perfect, she had unfortunately become quite boring. His words, uttered so callously, were daggers in her heart for she was now in a peculiar predicament. 

She had successfully become Ms. Perfect, but she was no longer Ms. Right…

******

Written for 100 words hosted at Thin Spiral Notebook. The prompt was “peculiar“. Check it out!

And I miss you so…

letters-814_640Dear You,

I miss you. There. I said it. I don’t know if I am allowed to anymore, things being the way they are, but it’s how I feel. I wander the halls at home a little dazed on  so many days, constantly thinking of you. Because I still need you…like I have for so many years. 

Do you remember how close we were? Spending hours and hours together? Uninterrupted. In silence. Alone in our own little world? At peace in each other’s company? There was very little that could separate you from me…but now, how things have changed! It’s been almost a year since we began growing apart…but the ache I have because of your absence only grows stronger everyday.

Oh Sleep!! How I miss you! Come back to me, please?

Love ever,
Me…a sleep deprived mamma.