My Amma

love3I’m blogging about my #MagicOfWarmth moment at BlogAdda in association with Parachute Advansed Hot Oil

My Amma, as is usual, got up at the crack of dawn.
No need for her to do so really, but old habits die hard. She then switched on Bhakti Ranjani. MSL’s sonorous Suprabhatam purified the morning air.
My father stirred in his bed sleepily. “Why don’t you sleep for a while Saraswati? You barely slept through the night.”
Even in his sleepy state, he remembered not to say “waiting for his call!”
Amma smiled and pottered around. She opened the doors, brought the paper in, brew fresh coffee and while the maid swept and cleaned, made a cup for her too.
Father couldn’t sleep a wink with so much of morning happening around him. As he settled with his copy of ‘The Hindu’, Amma brought him his cup of coffee.
Maid soon left saying she would be back next day.
That was it. All the morning visitors like the paperwallah, the florist, the milkwala, the vegetable vendor were done for the day.
My parents have had thriving careers and now were retired, with my only brother living the dollar dreams.
Simple life no doubt, where a regimented life sought to drown loneliness.
Sounds of silence fell all around as they read the papers back to back for the tenth time.
Puja and Breakfast done, Amma rested for a while. She then quickly rustled up a lunch, while the gnawing ache grew bigger by the minute. She chose not to tell father but she had a nagging suspicion that he knew what was troubling her.
Lunch done, Amma settled for another siesta, in front of the babbling TV but sleep was difficult to come by.
Amma spent her evenings teaching the neighborhood kids. Father would go for his walk then and meet his friends. They chit-chatted about the world in general with utmost robustness.
Once my father was back, all refreshed, Dinner was done listening to father’s lively rendition of the evening gone by.
For Amma, now the ache was impossible to control.
All the supplements in the paper had been screaming Mother’s Day and she had hoped against hope that my brother would find some time to call her.
Wish her.
Talk to her.
Miss her.
After all, he had to remember.
He too had a child and the daughter-in-law would have definitely celebrated Mother’s Day.
Day moved into night but the call didn’t come.
Wearily she slept intermittently with her moist eyes refusing to let the sleep seep in
At around one am, the phone rang and she picked it at the second ring.
She knew it.
Her son would never let her down.
Father turned over and smirked.
In the morning, he would remember to delete the chat between him and my brother, telling him to call our mother. Under any cost..

As for me? I’m just a fly on the wall 😀

Love needs no special day. Mothers need love. Every day. Always

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