Finally it was that time of the year again when the bakery shops of my city were expectant of a little extra income, the florists in my neighborhood was enthusiastic about selling more flowers and Archies outlet of the locality had refilled its stack of greeting cards. Yes, 14th May is Mother’s Day and everyone I know had big plans to make this one day special for their moms. I wanted to do the same, but as I entered Paradise Bakery to order my mother’s favourite fruit special I got called on to work again and I left immediately, infuriated about my never ending professional commitments.
My mother called me twice during that day and both the times I wasn’t able to speak properly to her. The first time I was on a call with my supervisor and the second time I was in an edit meeting. It’s not that I didn’t want to speak to her but it’s just that the timing was never right. I was coming back home after a long hard day and my mother called again, I rejected the phone call because I was in the metro and wanted to speak to her at peace. She of course called again, but by this time the tensions, traumas and all the workload of the day had reached at its optimum and I just snapped.
I screamed at her for calling me too much and not understanding the reason behind me rejecting the phone call. She said nothing but in a low squeaked voice asked if I was feeling better now, considering I had told her I wasn’t feeling well the night before. The question wasn’t something that she hadn’t asked before but at this very second I was left stunned and humiliated. Yes, I had always considered myself a good son. A son who was happy to buy a 1000 INR/KG cake for his mother but failed to excuse himself just once in the office hours to give her a call, a son who worked day & night to ensure his mother is able to purchase that extravagant saree but never complemented her when she actually wore it, a son who wanted to give her mother all the happiness in the world, never realizing for a minute that all that made her happy was the 2 minute phone conversation we have at the end of the day.
Where was I wrong? It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother. My mother meant the world to me and it is her that I share my happiness and sorrows with. But it was just that this metropolitan rat race towards achieving the best of things had made me forget everything about the actual best thing of my life and made me a ‘Me’ person.
I sat to eat that night with a really heavy heart, remembering when I had properly seen my mother last. I was home for Holi for only 1 day and I spent it meeting my chums from the hometown while she occupied herself in preparing everything that I loved eating. And, before I knew it the day was over and I was rushing towards the train station again. I recalled, this routine had been the same for all my visits to her. How could I have been so selfish?
This thought process of mine was interrupted as my phone beeped a notification from facebook. It read, “So and So and 12 other friends of yours have changed their DP. Make yours a Mother’s Day special too and celebrate the love for your mother.” As I read the update it hit me, this is what our relationship with our mother’s had come down to. Wishing them on social media with a cute holiday picture together yet never once truly thanking them and telling them how much we love them.
I had always been grateful to my mother; for all the nights she was awake while I suffered from fever, for all the meals she missed because I wanted to have some extra, for all the necessities she claimed she did not need so that I could have the luxuries and this was the reason that I was always so occupied, so busy all the time so that I could give her everything that she had wanted all these years.
I called her up and apologized, crying profusely and opening myself up for the first time to her after what felt like eternity. Took the late night train and came to meet her. It was 8th May that day and I didn’t have a fancy cake or a card to tell her what she meant to me. To be honest she didn’t need any of it. All she needed to see was my smiling face and we spent that day just catching up, sharing about our lives like never before. I slept holding my mother’s hand that night as she applied coconut oil to my hair. And just like that I decided I will never celebrate Mother’s Day again because just one day in a year was insufficient to celebrate our relationship. We now celebrate it at least once a day, even if it is on a 1 minute phone conversation.