Mom

Mom

I am in the kitchen garden with my mother. The light has faded and the dusk is advancing. I tuck my trousers into my boots and crouch slightly and meticulously look at the fully-fledged radish about which I always grumbled. I never loved the astringent taste of radish and, even when my mother loves it with butter, I never preferred it in any manner. But today, I am glancing at it like never before because it is something you will rarely find in the north.

 I stopped short. Something soft and squishy had hit my back. I looked back swiftly. It was mud. Had it been yesterday, I would have yelled," C'mon mom." with barely suppressed anger in my eyes. But today, I am smirking cringingly looking at her eyes because I know that the radish is rare in the north but, I get the affection only here.

   *             *             *            *

Every time I look into her eyes, I wonder. I wonder how she is so audacious. How can she ignore the way I can't ignore them? She is always so proud but still not conceited. 

Four months ago, when it was an end-year celebration, I was seated cross-legged on the couch in the living room. He was standing at the door, incessantly murmuring like an intoxicated bacchanalian and sometimes squabbling over the girls with a tight smile on the face. I was wearing my favorite dress. Yes, that one! that pink off-shoulder bodycon dress, hoping that he would smile at me, but neither did he smile nor did I dare to talk to him. I could just do the thing I did in the last 4 years of college; glance at him until he disappeared just like the swift cold breeze.

I was not astounded but disappointed. I knew that we didn't share any similarities. We are clefted apart by the color of the blanket which covers us. We are clefted apart by the smooth surface of money. But the girls with whom he squabbles are rich, beautiful, and extrovert. In my case, it's only my mother who thinks I have a benevolent appearance. It was only my mother who told me that I looked elegant in my favorite dress. It's only my mother who thinks I prattle a lot because I only dare to talk with her. But in college, I was always a reticent bookish hit by a superiority complex. 

But, to be honest, I was never hit by a superiority complex; I had hit the introvert wall.

* * * *

I and mother return home from the kitchen garden. She twists the cylindrical lockset and welcomes me to the kitchen.

 Sometimes I look at her hands and ponder. The curved wrinkles in her hands are very similar to her curly strands that are no longer black. Her eyes are no more glittering, her legs are delicate, and timely hurt unless they are massaged with lukewarm mustard oil. Still, she is adamant like a banyan tree and confident like a snow-capped tall mountain. I ponder, how confident I would be if only she gives me 10 percent of her confidence. Probably I would confident just like a craggy peak or a giant volcano.

 My mother, my superwoman, and my best friend worked to the last atom of her strength only for me. And now, when she needs me the most, I am leaving her. 

* * * *

Now, I am fearing if she will change; her absurd jokes, cringy giggle, fairy tales, and what not! I don't want oldness to ruffle her hair again, because I have seen that people become lonely and wicked after they become very old. And, there is nothing scarier than a vacant dilapidated building and a lonely and wicked person.

As an introvert, I always find it difficult to socialize. In the very first week, when I was admitted to the elementary school, I was bullied and ragged. The only thing I could do was weep and grumble about them to my mother. But, my mother didn't let me sob the next day. She wrote a complaint letter to the principal on the very same day. Since then, I was never bullied. But now, I am wondering to whom should I complain if someone rags me in the university in the north.

By now, the meat is ready. Grilled marinated meat relished with some fancy ingredients on the top. It is just wow and surely classy for us. Had it been yesterday, mother would have already ensconced in the bed by now and I would have been lying on the sofa; scrolling down through 'his' Instagram account like a crazy stalker or convincing myself to text him.

Mother calmly puts a chunk of meat into my favorite plate. I sigh. I have always been a fussy eater but now I cannot resist. 

She settles herself on the next chair beside me and pours the coke into the glasses which were last used on her birthday. 

"All the best for your future, girl." she clinks her glass against my crystal with a beaming smile on her face. I nod slowly.

* * * *

We are doing the packaging now. I have always been sophisticated and suave at packing. My mother packs everything messily but, I pack the clothes into neat piles. I keep my room spic and span and I hate it when things are not in order. I put the sweaters into the suitcase where there were already some books stacked against each other. 

Mom is searching for my novels on the shelf of neatly arranged books. Every second, when I am folding the clothes to adjust them into the suitcase, I am pondering, the pressure is increasing, the temperature is decreasing and I am questioning myself that should I tell her or not.

"Mom!" I said awkwardly.

Her moving hands stop.

"Mom, I can't..... I am not like you... Even when I try to interact with my friends, I start trembling. Then how can I adjust there?.. I won't go there, mom. I won't..... Everyone hates me. I only want to be with you..." I said and started to weep until my vision blurred.

She slows her breathing down. My lips are shaking and hands are frozen. Mom sits beside me, puts her hand on my cheeks, and slowly shift it to my shoulder. I still feel a prickle of fear.

"I am always with you." she lovingly kisses me on the forehead. And we glare at the loving sky all night.