She gets up at the crack of dawn to feed the little one. She can feel the headache coming in, and knows it is going to be a tough day. The older one is woken up for school, and she sends him off for a bath. He calls out in the middle, for his eyes got soap again, and she quickly cleans his face, before returning to the kitchen. She puts the kettle on boil as her husband goes in for his bath. She glances at the clock, and its 45 minutes on hand to prepare lunch. She hurriedly packs everyone’s boxes, and sends them off, father and son.
In the meantime her mother calls to share a story about some aunt and how she was wronged by her children. She listens absentmindedly, and hangs up when the doorbell rings. It’s the neighbor again, complaining how the water from their bathroom was clogging up their drain. She’s about to make a cup of tea for herself when she remembers the clothes that need ironing. She knows the older one will be back in an hour, and she wouldn’t find the time later. The little one is up again, and demanding her feed. She puts him on her lap and whispers sweet nothings in his ear.
The older one back from school, demands egg curry. She tries to reason that dal is ready, and he’d get egg curry tomorrow. He sulks and quietly walks to his room. She goes to the kitchen and quickly prepares the curry. His eyes light up and she smiles.
The husband calls, to remind her to mend the torn kurta. He needs to wear it on the weekend at a puja.
She glances at the time when she hears her stomach rumbling. The tea can wait, she better eat something first. She makes a roll out of a chapati and egg and eats it while straightening the cushions and picking up lone pencils and crayons on the way.
She makes a list of groceries that need restocking and goes down to the neighborhood kirana store, both children in tow. She busy vegetables, exchanges hellos with other women and waits in the park while the older child runs around for his share of play. The little one is content just looking around, seated firmly in her arms.
They come back home, and its time for heating the milk and preparing dinner. She thinks about making a cup of tea, but decides to do that after finishing with the rest. By time she’s putting her kettle on, the husband returns.
You’re making chai? Good. I’ll also have a cup.
Her shoulders slump, for he likes his tea mildly brewed, with milk separate, not like her chai, boiled over and over with the milk till its gets that right colour.
She doesn’t have the energy to do it twice over, never mind, she’ll have it his way.
So, what have you been up to, all day? What did you do? He asks.
Nothing much, the usual. She says.
Not good if you ask me….why don’t you at least finish reading all the books you keep buying? Sitting at home won’t do you much good. You know?
I know.
1 comment:
That was nicely put. Total respect to moms for whom we could become what we are today.
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