The morning rush was on. I
scurried around the house for meeting various deadlines. Making sure bread
pieces do not get an overtime in the toaster, pulling out my son from the shower,
looking for my daughter’s school diary as she was unable to find it and all the
time straining my ear to hear the first beep of her school bus. My
husband was completely aware of the conundrum between 6 am to 7 am. When
at times he called during that period my so called “Love You, ”seemed to be like
a howling on the phone.
“B—Y—E ..”..I said aloud from the
kitchen as I heard a loud thud. My daughter left for school. So now I geared up for Act II. V-r-o-o-m
v-r-o-o-m ..aa-cc—ii---dd-e-n-t…my son screamed as he was busy playing with his
hot wheels car. He was quite unawares of the time schedule. Its so natural for
a five year old, yet I try to bribe God by offering extra ladoos and
in return ask Him to make my son grow up fast.
It was almost 7 o’clock. I had to keep pace with time. I fed him with
one hand and buttoned his shirt with another. Well as you grow in the vocation
of “Motherhood” you can master many such things. I call it Art of Motherhood-
it just makes me feel better. Next
moment I was almost dragging him through the door and just then in the doorway
the smell of rotten flowers hit me. I grabbed the bunch of yellow roses from
the vase and prepared to throw it in the dustbin, just adjacent to the
corridor.
“Mumma…no don’t do. Papa sent
those roses, you cannot throw them. You have to keep it,” pleaded my son. “But dear, the roses have withered away now, and we
have to put them away,” I said as I firmly walked towards the dustbin. “No.
Papa will be sad. ..if you throw it then I am not going to school. Those are
papa’s flowers..my papa…,” he almost started crying. I was startled and in a
fix. My husband sent the bouquet of beautiful yellow roses to me four days
back. We celebrate every little event in our lives starting from the day we
first held hands or first kiss. ( I know it sounds clichéd...) But now in such bustling life these have become a mere
calendar events. Where we say things or just perform but neither hear or feel.
“Okay, I wont,” I told my son. He
wiped his tears and almost instantly his face beamed with joy. As I dropped him
at the bus stop my mind raced through different phases of my life. I walked back into the house and placed
bouquet where it was. The flowers have faded away, the stems have taken a brown
colour from green. I looked at the flowers for an extra minute. Not even I enjoyed
the sweet fragrance or marveled at their beauty when they were fresh. When I received the bouquet I diligently put
it in the vase. Ensured that my crystal vase should be kept in a safe place out
of my children's reach . Every day we focus on living life, rearing up
children, and even expressing love or making phone calls - with a dash of perfection and
sense of duty.
Until a voice , here my five year
old son- urged me to feel the love he felt in withered away flowers.
