HER

Like any other story related to my life, this one too starts from my home only. Amongst the chaos that every morning had to offer her voice tore through the noise of it, "Don't forget to keep your lunchbox in your bag!", she shouted on top of her voice; this was all I could gather of her on regular school days but on weekends, now those were the days you would get the real drama "I have seen so many hardships in the early years of my marriage to your father, I was so young and still adapted to their culture, none of which is appreciated ever and only the mistakes are scrubbed on my face" she said resentfully for my paternal family. Honestly, I never minded her opinions on my paternal family, her hard work was eminent and yes, not even my paternal family could question that.

Aside from our family drama, she took immense interest in perfecting our house helps, gave them tips on bettering their work and advice that would have helped them in life aside from work.

My father never took great interest in spending time with us or pampering us, he gave us all facilities without any doubt but his interest in doing so was always absent. That wasn't how my mother described him though, she told me their love story with great interest and childish excitement always, they met in a gift shop in their society and became friends due to mutual friends, my father messaged my mother first, they went on multiple dates to the lavishest restaurants, my father treating my mother like a princess and then them having their own fairytale wedding. Even I can recall such moments with my father from my early childhood, he really gave me whatever I asked for, saved me from getting scolded, read me stories, taught me maths, took me to his official parties and one should have looked at the proudness on his face when I won trophies, but as years kept going on I can hardly recall any such moments or even recognize my father anymore, maybe its a part of growing up, maybe not. These changes too never bothered me much because my mother's attitude towards me never changed even for a second, and these are the small things that make me admire her. My father's attitude changed for us all over time not only for me but for her too. Her will to not let that affect me much and pretend as if everything was fine and would be fine is praiseworthy.

She is kind, I had seen the way everyone around us treated their maids and drivers and other people who would help us on a regular basis but never once did I see someone who treated their helpers the way my mother did, I will not brag about it as it would belittle her actions. She is beautiful in her simplicity, never bothered to follow fashion trends or any trend as a matter of fact. She is honest and that's why her opinions hold great value to me because I know they are not sugarcoated. She is devoted, to everything she puts her mind to and her family above all. She is a pure soul, her naivety is a big proof of how her actions serve others before they serve her. She is kiddish too because of her hunger for appreciation from my father's family but I do appreciate her because every time I feel insecure about myself or feel afraid, her arms always make me feel safe and warm, she never tells me I am too grown or old to still look up to and that's what makes her my home, a place that makes me feel safe, secure and comfortable.

Her is Maa, Maa is my home and my home is where I start and every story related to me starts too.

This is her story, a real not so imaginary one about her and it will continue to live on as long as I feel the warmth of the sun on my face that reminds me of her comfort, the pitter-patter of rain that reminds me of her non-stop chattering with everyone and anyone she ever met, as long as I can breathe the smell of lemongrass oil that she adores to put in every corner of our house, as long as there are bad days too which remind me that life is a mix of good and bad days and our way of handling them is what defines our way of living different from others. Her story is ETERNAL.