Now I understand you , Mother

Now I understand you , Mother

There resided in my home, a petite and dainty young girl , who used to be her mother’s darling – the apple of her eye . The girl was every teeny bit a mother’s wistful dream – obedient , disciplined , soft spoken , academically oriented and well groomed . The mother would embark on a floating cloud when the little girl came first in her class or when she sat snuggling up to her every evening chattering about the day’s events , disclosing to her many well guarded secrets one by one . The brightly lit sunny evenings were better spent basking in the pleasures of an oil massage , after which the mother would retreat to the kitchen to prepare her daughter’s favourite dishes . So overwhelmed by contentment the mother would be when the little girl brushed the long wavy charm of her locks , slowly and with care , as if her whole world resided in those jet black strands .
Post high school , the girl brought fame and fervour to her family through her exam results and her mother found herself encased by an enticing bubble of emotional satiety . Unfortunately , the bubble was not to last long . The girl , now all of 18 , commenced her college life , carrying with her, baggage enriched with colourful dreams and hopes for an exciting journey ahead .
Much to her mother’s dismay , for her first home visit , the girl stunned her mother with her long sensuous locks cropped to the bare minimum , with not a drop of oil to enliven the strands. More surprises were in store for the mother in the visits to come . The girl , tagged an ‘ adult ‘ , decided to utilize the rights that came along with the tag , never requesting a second opinion from her mother , like she always did before . Endless hours of hushed conversations over the phone followed . The relentless calls of her mother pleading her to have food fell on deaf ears .
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Like all mothers out there , this mother too had the ubiquitous urge to scrutinize her daughter’s friends , to make sure that they were trustworthy . It was never a tough nut to crack before , but now , the daughter started evading the many sharp edged probes her mother shot her way with an intention to unravel her company, her life. “Can I at least have some privacy now that I am older ?!” The query was so largely outweighed by rudeness than request that the mother felt herself left high and dry in her heavenly abode of a home – The place where the chirpiness of her daughter used to echo from each nook and corner , granting a halo of happiness around her house, securing it . Clamour and cacophony erupted from the otherwise undiscovered dark crevices of her family , disrupting the perfect existence that they were so proud about .
The mother, showered words of advice and warnings, coated with an essence of love and affection on her daughter , hoping she would imbibe those with good intentions. But the daughter, exposed to the alluring fantasies of an independent life never agreed upon her mother’s revelations that those were short lived and that it was a mean world out there. After all weren't friends a person’s priceless asset ? They wouldn’t stab her from behind nor would they leave her stranded when in trouble, would they? Never did her clouded conscience reminded her one forgotten piece of truth – the truth that her mother had always been her best friend , through thick , thin and hailstorms .
Years passed . Rumblings of disasters and raptures of delight completed her days .The girl is a woman now. And the woman is me .
As I write this piece , my imagination is in pandemonium owing to the frenzy of events that ruled my past. I boast of a just couple of close friends now , a few weathered away in the course of time for they had a life of their own . The rest charred away, rather set to fire, in the aftermath of recurrent backstabbing they astounded me with . The gentle breeze that swishes past me right now graze through my brittle locks, reviving my scalp . For where there was abundant seedlings of lusciousness once upon a time, now lie barren patches of fair skinned scalp , thanks to the many fascinating hair treatments of my youth .
I hark back to my mother’s words and let myself sink into the contemplative mode in the solitude of my room at times. Should I be regretting my mistakes ? Every person ought to learn the vagaries of life in their own unique way isn’t ? The overzealous chit chats with friends , the delightful crushes , those intriguing beauty experiments and hours of gossiping to dissect the events – aren’t they part of the growing up process ?
People change over the years and I did too. Still, I can’t deny the truth that now I regret those moments when I used to explode into flames of fury, denying every word that gurgled out from my mother . I regret now the years I shunned my mother thinking she could be of no use to a modern girl dwelling in a digitalised world of IT , mobile phones and multiplexes , where the deep seated thoughts and quibbles could be scribbled away on a blog space by the touch of a button .
Maybe that’s why now a days , when I feel torn between choices or dilemmas , I feel the urge to approach my mother , to listen to her advice regarding the matter . Maybe the final decision would still be mine, albeit, now I respect her opinion more than anything else . The little girl in me had a best friend , a guardian of secrets long back , whom she locked away in her childhood room eventually . But now she needs her back . Because now , she understands her mother and her importance more than ever.
This is a guest post by Maliny Mohan. To read more of her articles, visit her site www.malinymohan.com

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