In-Retro

                                    Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together…so does mine. As the norm goes, one of your parents should be tough and strict. The other one easygoing and pally. In my case, my mother was the unlucky one who was destined to undertake the Draconian forms of punishments and be the Bad Guy. Thanks to her profession. She was a teacher. My father was the super dad who we, me and my sister, used to confide in about mother’s Hitler regime.

                                                My first memories of mom-scare date back to when I was three years old. As a kid, I had some genetic anomaly which made my center of gravity slightly disoriented. I used to tumble and land on all fours at least twice a day. The stitch mark on my forehead is the remnant of one such incident. Even now as a grown up, at times, I take little bit of time swaying, before I can get my CoG affixed. In spite of clinging on to mom’s hands while walking, I used to lose stability and fall down every now and then. I guess she used to think I was playing this weird prank on her and used to pinch me slightly on my wrist (which for her was the nearest accessible part on my body) as a warning to stop fooling around. I was extremely wary of mom’s pinches and the bruised knees.

                                   As school kids, for me and my sister, the written exams at school were nothing to worry about. Every evening after exams at school, my mother used to make us answer the question paper exclusively for her. So the transit time from school to house after exams was the actual nail biting, frantic revision time preparing for the real life and death assessment from our Mother University. In spite of all efforts to cover up the mistakes we have made in answer papers, we used to spit out exactly what we wrote. Not a word more, not a word less. Such was the terrifying aura about her which kind of overshadowed her soft sober side in those times.

                                 I read somewhere; the phrase ‘working mother’ is redundant. True. A mother is always working, be at home or office. My mother used to travel almost 10 hours a day for work. Still she opted not to stay at hostel away from family, from us. In spite of not being at home 24x7, she had this undeniable commanding influence on us which evidently showed in our academics and character. Obeying her was not an obligation for us. It came naturally. As and when we grew up, the equations changed. The strict disciplinarian started to loosen up. May be because she was quite sure the upbringing she had given us wouldn’t go wrong. We have had our times of rebellion. I used to complain we don’t have sumptuous meal cooked at home like our peers with full-time mothers. Comparing her with my friends’ mothers was a terrible offence I have done. I still do it. I am a huge sinner that ways.

                                    Now being an employed single girl living away from family, I understand how difficult it is to spend half a day at work and then battle the time crunch to tend to yourself : cooking and eating and washing and sleeping(most important).Forget taking care of two kids and a husband. The simple two-dish meal which my mom used to cook looks like mission impossible for me. They say all women become like their mothers. That’s the only hope I hold for future.