Mothers Day Special: The Letter!

Mothers Day Special: The Letter!

Submitted by Editor on Sun, 2016-05-08 22:46 “Dear Mother,Eighty-three years that I am now, I stand like a wedge between my childhood days and old age. Herewith, I disclose you what I’ve been through so far as you’ve not been able to live those times with me since I was born.I have grown up hearing people say, ‘Poor child, she’s motherless.’ This ‘pitying’ by everyone has left me handicapped ever since. This missing tinge of motherly love was however exhibited to me by my father. Poor him! But what does he know about my desperation to have a real mother for once? In my pre-teenage, when I was dropped to school by my dad, I saw mothers kissing their children,’ Goodbye for now, will be back real soon to pick you up after school.’ Missing scenes, mother.I never knew how a girl in this society was that embodiment of love, care and affection yet the slave of material pleasure of the very same society. My friends called me a ‘tom boy’ which I knew was obvious. I had asked my dad to read me ‘Cinderella’ story though, every night hoping that you would appear to complete my wish list which begins and ends with you…On road, when those eye-piercing looks stared at me constantly enough to make me feel uncomfortable, I knew that being born as a female is no joke. I saw a boy crying and I soon heard his friends consoling him. What they said to comfort him perplexed me. They said, ’C’mon now, guys don’t cry. Only girls do!’ Is it what they think of girls-weak yet so strong to attract those greed-driven men? They say, ’A woman is a beautiful creation of God. Yet ‘beauty’ in itself is a trap. A beautiful flower is plucked, an ugly one, ignored. When all my brother had to learn was driving, I had to learn to cook, clean vessels, wash clothes, do household chores and then manage studies. Yes mother, I did feel like being born as a boy. When reality struck in, I was a mother and time shot by like an arrow. Child, his stages, housework. I was a pure workaholic. Yet they say, ‘A man’s pay must be higher than that of a woman’s.’ Men are mightier than us, women folk. They called women fair who were born unfair. Through thick and thin, high and low, I’ve sustained my motherhood. My husband has died thirty years back and besides being the mistress of all household work, I had to look into the property, estate affairs to create a strong base for my children. Hence mastering all this, I am not the master of the house. My children are.I am homeless, pondering over the bad times gone by, nothing to regret or repent, in this old age home, only wishing for some wellness. I don’t know where my children are but I’ve left this piece of note at home. I was born motherless and I knew I’d value you if I’d only gotten you somehow. And then there are my children who having gotten a mother don’t value her. However, I wish them the best of their lives as I die here to mark the ecstasy of my lifetime agony…”Teardrops trickled down his eyes, reading his mother’s letter. Without hesitating for a second, he reached for the phone, pressing a few number buttons, he said,’ Hello. I’m Arvind. I called to ask whether I can pick Mrs. Reema D’ Souza from your old age home to HER house?’ The reply was an emphatic yes.Author: Shrividya Somanna is a Second Year Arts Undergraduate Student with Christ Univesrity, Bengaluru