I was getting late. The bus driver had scowled and told me to be on time. Maa, had been taking a longer time than usual.
Me: Maa, deri hocche! (Maa, it's getting late!)
Maa: Dara shona, dui minute! (Wait my dear, coming in two minutes)
I snarled. When will Maa understand the deliquescent nature of my work! I am not her darling little girl anymore. I have a boss to answer. She just does not understand!
This is not the first time! She always keeps calling me from the back, making me sip coconut water or chai, eating marie biscuits or toasts.
If I am hungry, I'll eat! Why does she have to make a scene all the time!
I begin to leave, just like every other day. But it wasn't like any other ordinary day.
I sighed, as I came back to my senses. Maa had passed away two days back, peacefully in her sleep.I'd been out for work, while she'd probably expected me to be there, holding her hand. She'd always taken care of me, but I could not. Now she won't be running behind me to grab a bite before I leave or come scurrying down the stairs when I come back.
As I lock the door, I miss the scent of the incense sticks she light early morning and her sweet humming. You were right Maa, I never grew up. I wish I never grew up, for I remembered being everything; everything else except your little daughter. Will she ever forgive me?
She will, I think, for she had a heart of gold. A mother's heart.
PLEASE NOTE:
This work is purely fictional and has no relation to the author's or anyone else's life. This must be treated as a work of fiction.
