I glanced up at the clock. 7.58pm. Any minute now, I would hear my mom call out to me saying that dinner was ready. It had happened for as long back as I could remember and it still happened to this day. Mom always managed to get dinner ready between the hours of 7.55 and 8.00pm.
“Dinner's ready” her sharp, shrill voice rang out as if on cue. No surprises here.
2 minutes later she would call out again, this time her tone taking that unmistakable sense of urgency. She would beckon me a couple of times more before I would head downstairs to the dining room trying to avoid her glare which would take exactly 12 seconds to morph into a look of extreme fondness.
“I cooked your favorite dish today, dear!” she would say. No surprises here too. Every single day she managed to cook a favorite dish of mine and even if she didn't she would term it one and I would go along with her.
“Thanks Mom. That looks yummy!” I would say something to that effect before,taking my assigned seat at the neatly laid but bursting at the seams dinner table. I could never stop wondering how she could cook so much food and more importantly, why she took so much trouble for just the both of us. She would hardly eat anything and I was not too fussy about what I ate. As long as it was edible and provided me with the nutrition to keep me away from starving to death, I was fine. It did not matter if it took hours to prepare or was served directly from the plant. I had tried to convey the same to my mother to no avail. Each night, it was a different spread – well thought of meals, starting off with a soup, followed by a salad and then the main course which would be at least 2-3 dishes and of course ending it with a delicious dessert. The conversation at the dinner table would be limited to her trying to get me to eat as much as possible and me trying to outmanouver her overtures and failing miserably in doing so.
“You should eat too, Mom!” I would implore her midway through the meal, more to distract her from trying to get one last kofta into my system rather than being concerned about her not eating anything.
“I am old my dear. I don't need the nutrition as much as you do!” .
“First of all Mom, you are not all that old. Second of all, as we grow older out bodies need more nutrition. You need to eat well to stay well!”
“I do eat well. I keep eating throughout the day.”
“Well, I have never seen you eat anything!”
“Oh, I do. I eat the left overs and also keep eating when I am cooking. I am so full by dinner time, that I don't need to eat much. Enough about me, you should really try to finish off the koftas. There's just 2 left!” My protests would always fall on deaf ears and by the time she had her way with me, I would be completely stuffed unable to move from my seat!
“You made me overeat. AGAIN!” I would sulk.
“Overeat, at your age? In our times, girls your age, would eat double of what you did!” she would say smiling victoriously.
I could never win an argument concerning food with her. Do not even know why I tried to do so each night.
“I am going out for a run, Mom” I would shout out before heading outdoors.
“Don't take too long. It's not safe for a girl to be running outside alone at such a late hour.”
“And it's safe for a guy I presume? And I wouldn't be, if you had not overfed me!”
“Firstly I did not overfeed you and secondly in our generation girls your age...”
“ ...would not be allowed to go outside by themselves, leave alone so late in the night!” I would finish her sentence and sprint out before she would have had a chance to say anything.
I imagined her shaking her head as she would lament at the girls of this generation and how they worried too much about being thin, too thin before she would make her way into the kitchen to take care of the dishes and everything else that went along with it. By the time I would return from my run, the house would be spic and span. My tub would be filled with hot water and all I would have to do would be to soak in it before heading to a freshly made bed with clean sheets and a neatly arranged room where everything would be in its place.
I would walk to my mother's room and peek in. There she would be, finally resting on the bed, sometimes reading a book, sometimes listening to music and sometimes just staring at the walls. I would talk to her for a few minutes before heading out with a good night and a peck on her forehead. As soon as I would step out of the room, the lights in her room would go off. I loved her so much.
There were no surprises in our lives and I did not want any. I was extremely happy with my life – happy and contented.
“You should really start thinking about getting married”.
This conversation would crop up at least once a month, wherein my mom would try to convince me that a woman's real life did not begin until she got married and that I was quickly passing the optimal age for getting married thereby ruining my chances of landing a prize catch. She has been trying to make me believe that for the past couple of years but miraculously I had come out of it unscathed. This had been one and perhaps the only area where I had consistently been able to get the better of my mother in an argument.
“In our generation, women would have had a couple of kids by your age.” she would lament.
“That doesn't neccessarily mean they were married, would it?” I would say trying to make the tone of the lecture a little lighter. She would simply glare at me and carry on.
“What will you do after I am dead and gone?” she would ask.
“The same you would do after I am dead and gone!”
“Don't talk like that.” she would say tearfully.
“I was just kidding mom!”
“You should never say such things jokingly...”
“Why not?”
“They could come true you know”
“Well you should follow your own advise then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you don't say things like that, I won't either Mom. Seriously Mom. I am more than happy with this life. I don't want to even take a small chance of ruining it for myself and I implore you to not to either. It's not like marriage is the be-all and end-all of all existence!”
“But it is...!”
“It's not Mom and I shall prove that to you”
“It's very difficult to lead your life by yourself”
“I agree it is Mom, but I am not alone, am I? I have you with me!”
“I won't be here forever...”
“Neither will I mom” I would say, our argument coming a full circle before she would realize that I was not going to give in. I would gain one month of peace and freedom from being tried to be bundled off with the next gentleman that crossed her path.
As they say, Man proposes and God disposes and that is exactly what happened one fine day when I met the most amazing man in the world and fell in love promptly with him, forgetting all my lofty ambitions of proving to mom that I could lead my life alone. Mom was the happiest person on the earth when she came to know about this new development in my life and got started on planning our wedding long before he proposed to me. No surprises, there too.
It broke my heart when I had to leave her to move in with him. I almost did not go through with it but had to give in when mom started to threaten to run away to the Himalayas if I did not do so. I left her reluctantly cursing myself for having set in motion the chain of events that had led to this. What else had I expected when I had allowed myself to fall in love ? It was my fault really, no one but myself to blame. None of it would have happened had I not met my husband. I looked at him as he pulled me close – Mom must be in bed now, surely. Oh! How she must be missing me. She must be tossing and turning around.
“I need to call her..” I whispered as I ran out without a backward glance.
“Hello..”
“Mom!”
“YOU?”
“I love you mom”
“What are you doing calling me at this hour on your wedding day? Not that it is a surprise though...”
“Were you sleeping Mom?”
“No dear. I was watching a movie...”
“But you never stay up this late Mom”
“Yes, that was because I used to be so tired looking after you that I wouldn't be able to!”
“hmmph. So are you saying that it's good to have me out of the house?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Yes!”
“MOM”
“Oh please, go and join your husband before he drives you out!”
“A part of me wishes he did”
“How many times have I warned you against talking without thinking. ”
“I miss you Mom...so much”
“I miss you too my love...”
“Why does it have to be this way?”
“Because it does. Good night.” I heard her hang up before I had a chance to say anything. I looked up to see my husband looking at me I stood there looking at him sheepishly, not knowing quite what to do.
“Mamma's little girl, aren't we still?” he said extending his hand to me. I moved away, tears flowing down my cheeks, burying my face in my hands.
“I don't believe this...” he said.
I looked up to see him laughing his head off. I could not believe it that he could actually be laughing at my misery. Such a huge mistake I had made choosing to leave mom for this insensitive brute. He was treating me like an 8-year old. How unfair! I started to say something but all I could do was to join him in his laughter. And that was quite definitely a surprise and it felt good – very, very good.
“I want to go visit Mom first thing in the morning.”
“No surprise there!” he said, as we walked back, hand in hand.
*The End*
