Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Love peeps...


The morning rush was on. I scurried around the house for meeting various deadlines. Making sure bread pieces do not get an overtime in the toaster, pulling out my son from the shower, looking for my daughter’s school diary as she was unable to find it and all the time straining my ear to hear the first beep of her school bus.  My husband was completely aware of the conundrum between 6 am to 7 am. When at times he called during that period my so called “Love You, ”seemed to be like a howling on the phone.
Image result for mom taking son to school cartoon
“B—Y—E ..”..I said aloud from the kitchen as I heard a loud thud. My daughter left for school.  So now I geared up for Act II. V-r-o-o-m v-r-o-o-m ..aa-cc—ii---dd-e-n-t…my son screamed as he was busy playing with his hot wheels car. He was quite unawares of the time schedule. Its so natural for a five year old, yet I try to bribe God by offering extra ladoos and in return ask Him to make my son grow up fast.
It was almost 7 o’clock.  I had to keep pace with time. I fed him with one hand and buttoned his shirt with another. Well as you grow in the vocation of “Motherhood” you can master many such things. I call it Art of Motherhood- it just makes me feel better.  Next moment I was almost dragging him through the door and just then in the doorway the smell of rotten flowers hit me. I grabbed the bunch of yellow roses from the vase and prepared to throw it in the dustbin, just adjacent to the corridor.  
“Mumma…no don’t do. Papa sent those roses, you cannot throw them. You have to keep it,” pleaded my son. “But dear, the roses have withered away now, and we have to put them away,” I said as I firmly walked towards the dustbin. “No. Papa will be sad. ..if you throw it then I am not going to school. Those are papa’s flowers..my papa…,” he almost started crying. I was startled and in a fix. My husband sent the bouquet of beautiful yellow roses to me four days back. We celebrate every little event in our lives starting from the day we first held hands or first kiss. ( I know it sounds clichéd...) But now in such bustling life these have become a mere calendar events. Where we say things or just perform but neither hear or feel.
“Okay, I wont,” I told my son. He wiped his tears and almost instantly his face beamed with joy. As I dropped him at the bus stop my mind raced through different phases of my life.  I walked back into the house and placed bouquet where it was. The flowers have faded away, the stems have taken a brown colour from green. I looked at the flowers for an extra minute. Not even I enjoyed the sweet fragrance or marveled at their beauty when they were fresh.  When I received the bouquet I diligently put it in the vase. Ensured that my crystal vase should be kept in a safe place out of my children's reach . Every day we focus on living life, rearing up children, and even expressing love or making  phone calls - with a dash of perfection and sense of duty.
Until a voice , here my five year old son- urged me to feel the love he felt in withered away flowers.

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