By Srishti Roy
Don’t tell your mother that she looks tired. She knows that. Tell her that she does a great job every day because I don’t think she knows that.
I have lived for almost 14 years. It’s not easy, being a teenager. At least, this was what my naïve little mind believed up until a few days ago when I realized that being a mom is much harder. We don’t appreciate our parents at all, and in most Indian families where the mother is (unfortunately) the homemaker, we tend to lean towards our father’s side. But that day, I understood what it means to be a mother.
Let me walk you through that seemingly ordinary Sunday morning when the sun’s first rosy hues shined through my bedroom window, and I awoke to the smell of good food. It was around six in the morning, and I, deciding to be a good daughter, got up and went to the kitchen.
“Morning,” I muttered sleepily, hugging her.
She laughed. “Good Morning. If I may ask, your Highness, what disturbed your deep slumber?”
“Mushroom Sandwiches, muffins, and…buttered toast!” I whispered excitedly, sniffing the air hungrily and sneaking a small bite.
“Like father, like daughter. Only you both will get so excited for bread- Hey! Why are you eating without brushing? How many times have I told you to brush before -”
“Fine, I’m going,” I said resentfully before walking towards the bathroom.
Five minutes later, I saw my mom waking my brother up for his cricket class. Now, doing this before 7 o’clock is a herculean task. He will scream at the top of his lungs, hold on to the bed like his life depends on it and beg for more time. I gave up a long time ago, but my mother still did it painstakingly every day. She looked absolutely knackered, though. Finally, at around 6:30, my brother woke up.
My mother, noticing me from behind my door, immediately pounced on me.
“It’s good that you woke up early today. Go study! Maths-“
“Amma! Please, I have almost a whole week until exams start! Slow down!” I whined, sounding very immature.
“It’s your marks, isn’t it? Don’t you want to get good marks? Don’t you want to beat your peers…”
I zoned out. This was the usual tirade on studying, but it was too early for it. So, I chose the sleazy way out.
“Amma, you work very hard every day-”
“Don’t sweet-talk me. I have a lot of things to do today. Tomorrow is Ganesh Chaturthi!” she said, turning away from me.
“How about I help you in your work today?” I said, desperate for anything other than burying myself in maths problems.
My mother looked at me, a crafty gleam in her eye.
“You’ll do work? For me?”
“Yes! I will! I’ll help you in your-my…um,” I said, tumbling over my words.
“Okay.” She smirked. I gulped. This wasn’t good.
“I’m going out, I’ll be back by 9. Boil the milk, make the coffee decoction, pour a cup for me, take out the clothes for laundry, run the washing machine, and mop the living room and floor near the kitchen. At 8 o’clock, go down and buy half a kilogram worth of potato, tomato, eggplants, and 250 grams worth of ladyfinger and carrot. Oh, and get half a kilogram of cottage cheese as well. That’s all!” she said as I frantically wrote everything down. Yeah, no problem at all, mum.
“I took a big saucepan and emptied around 2 whole litres of milk into it. That was enough, right? I put it on the stove and then turned my attention towards the coffee maker. I’d seen my mother do this millions of times- Put coffee powder in one section, water in the other, and let electricity do its magic. I plopped myself into the armchair near our mantelpiece. Easy as pie.
I had clearly jinxed myself. The milk overflowed because I had put way too much milk in one vessel. I had put the coffee powder in the place of the water and water in the coffee section, so instead of the dark, smooth decoction I needed to impress my mother, I got a black, slimy clump of coffee.
Carrying so much laundry back and forth from the basket to the washing machine removed my ability to smell. That stench! I’d never realized how bad our clothes smelt. Of course, I also mixed our whites with coloured clothes.
Do you want me to continue my tales of woe? Oh, of course you do.
I never thought mopping was so dangerous until I did it. The water was too soapy, and I somehow mopped myself into a corner! Getting myself out was horrible. I still have bruises.
At around 8:45, I lugged my sore body downstairs to buy some vegetables. But what exactly was half a KG of potato? 13, 14, or 20? Which tomatoes were good? I asked the vegetable vendor for help, but with my broken Tamil and his pure Kannada, we didn’t get very far. He got quite annoyed with me and made as if to leave, but I quickly bought whatever he had left, even though some were bad.
It was only 9 in the morning, but I already felt like I could drop into a long nap and never wake up. I was in a rather snappish mood when my mother came back, but all of that faded when I looked at my mother. I saw the look of shock in her eyes, regret coursing through me.
But they say that Mothers are God’s gift to Humankind for a reason. She did a quick survey of the mess that I had created, briefly rolled her eyes at some of the rotten tomatoes peeking out of the shopping bag, and as I was about to cower in a corner, she smiled and said, “The floor looks very… clean…”
That’s a mother to you!
By Srishti Roy
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