MY MOTHER

"But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin."

Mine was a quiet yet tough lady. And, tough she was, not just figuratively. The almirahs, my brothers need help moving, she moved all by herself. With 7 children and a not-so-easy-to-please husband, she was on her toes. Right from the moment she saw the rays of the sun, she was up. The quintessential morning cup of tea for all waking up at different timings. The breakfast preparation had more than it's share of delicious moments. And, as kids, we always complained that the fare could be more exotic! Kids, never value what they have, isn't it?.

Lunch was something she prepared once for both the meals. For all 9 of us, with varying tastes. Evenings would find her pottering away at her garden of plants, in whom she found those little joys of life. Or, knitting away cardigans for all of us, and later, for our children. She was a support for each one of us.

We all took her for granted, in the belief she'd be around for a long time. But, then, the clutches of death have their own orders to perform. She left us suddenly, one cold morning, like today. Her plea to the Almighty was always, "Take me away with my hands and legs working'. She never wanted to burden us with her ailments and certainly never desired to be bed-ridden.

She walked away quietly into the sunset this day, a decade and a half ago.

To watch over us, in peace.