My first memory of her, is of her
half wet coming out of the bathroom,
with a cloth draped around her
to the garden collecting flowers for her god,
who took away everything from her
except the strength to bear it
and look for a better tomorrow.
Then sitting with her god offering flowers and prayers for us
I remember the sound
that her bangles made against the desk while checking my work
it created ripples of music that vibrated through my world.
The red vermillon mark, that she put on her forehead,
was my first touch with colours.
The day she had to wipe it, some colours faded from my life.
Yet her eyes still held some colours,
which nothing could take away.
While doughing the flour, sometimes crumbs still remained around her fingers,
when she prepared for her day… still brightens my memory.
The smell of her sarees still drools over my senses like magic.
The sound of her feet running for her job still fills music to my ears.
Her presence in our life makes it worth living.
Her prayers to her god, gave us the strength to bear fruits.
The music of her bangles soothed us.
The vermillon mark became our guide throughout our life.
I wondered how she is present in everything I do
and in everything I am.
I never thought when she stopped being an “I”
and became a mother adapting just to us.
Never losing, her feminity, the charm, the touch,
the fragrance of being someone special,
YET ALWAYS A “MOTHER”.