One day mummy said to me, “I could’ve been somebody, you know?” as usual I laughed and said, “yea, I know.” But that statement hunted me alot. I love her because she is my mother. But as a mother and a daughter we have a different type of relationship. And in different phases of life I understood her differently. In childhood, she has never been my inspiration. In those days I was quite closer to Buwa. He used to be my inspiration. I used to think he is more bold and intellectual than her. But I never tried to understand her separately. I used to fascinate more by him. In those days I had a misunderstanding that bold people were quite interesting than emotional one. Unlike that mummy used to cry in trivial matters. So, I used to be quite far from her. But, now when I think about her, I become quite emotional. Quite nostalgic. And sometimes I feel regret because of my inability to understood her. Now, she is my role model, she is my inspiration. Sometimes when we, friends talk about our mothers, I always tell, “I never have to look or search inspiration outside my family because my mummy is always there to inspire.”
She has a skinny body, long black hair, and she always puts red lipsticks before going to an office. But I never like red lipsticks since childhood. Nowadays, sometimes I tell her, “Don’t use this red one na.” She became furious and tells that “you don’t know how to be beautiful” as always I laugh by listening to her reaction. Because I like her anger. Further, she tells me that, “your friends seem quite fashionable but you never know how to be beautiful and smart enough.” As usual, I laugh. These are some funny, what can I say, interesting things about my mom. But throughout her her life she went through different obstacles. Sometimes I amused by listing her struggle for reading, her courage to start further study after ten year’ gap, her passion for reading and so on. Nowadays days when I listen to all those things I become speechless. I think she is more intellectual and bold enough than what I used to think about her before.
When I was a child she was the only one women of our community who had higher education. She was the only one who used to teach her children. In those days she was always there to teach us, but I never realized her intelligence, I always think Buwa was more intellectual than a mummy. Nowadays when I think about my past, sitting alone, I remember my ignorance and laugh. I don’t need anybody to laugh with, I just laugh.
Now, academically, I am more educated than her. Sometimes when she mispronounces anything, I correct her. Sometimes, she takes it easily, but sometimes her ego as a mother overlaps her and reacts, “Don’t teach me, I have pronounced correctly.” When she says so, as usual I laugh
.Recently one day I told her, “One day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One day I will say goodbye to you. One day I will go away.” By hearing it, she cried and cried. I, too did not able to control myself. She cried like a small child separating with her mother.
Today, while writing about her, I really feel hard. It’s really hard to write about the mother. Words do not have that power to describe mother. Now I am numb, speechless, but I have tried one of the foolish things which I did not have to do..............
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