A Mother in You

The first blog, of my mother, to my mother, and if she will ever read, "For you, my Mother."
All the way up to the growing age of 22, I have found myself never age beyond 12. Even that would be more mature. I bicker, whine, cry, show my tenacity and stubbornness for all the things that a 12-year-old would learn to stop for. Just imagine a girl at the age where most of her contemporaries in India are with two children of their own, just know how to stay transfix on a trivial demand to get a Percy Jackson book by the very next week of the release. Yes, I am that girl. Relentless mood swings, extravagant dinner demands, unjustified sister wars, I have been an active participant in all. And so at a later stage in my life, I am not very positive to be a Mother.
Now why being a mother rattles me? Well, not exactly rattles, but pulls me down? Yes. I am being considerate here. I am just worried about my kids. How are they gonna survive with a child as a Mom? This realisation, unlike the name of my blog, is not sporadic. It occures regularly to my mind whenever I see a beautiful, dusky shadow of my mother, in the kitchens walking side to side as if the world is on fire, but only she knows the way out. Her quick but conscious flips of pancakes, slow and continuous stir in the hot steaming spot, and a pulse quicking scream when a lizard is spotted. Every time I see her, imagine her future and ponder on her past, articulations to objectify her acts and the reason behind them stops. It just appears blank. Why she gave up her singing, her only oasis, to make our future,why she wakes up the first though she remains last in the house, why she cooks delicious but time-consuming food when her preferences are salads, milk and dry fruits? Why she lives for us when just like us, she has only one life left? One fine day, I dared up to ask her these questions. She didn't answer then, but it was after a week that I realized that even she didn't have one. Such is the creation of mother. Such is the creation by God.
Right from the day a small bundle of blankets with a galaxy of hopeful innocent eyes falls on a woman's womb, she stops belonging to this ordinary world. Her life renders to a Blue fertile Planet, where her child is her sun. Maybe that's why the Earth is a Mother and the Sun also sounds like a Son. Yeah, it just dawned on me! All my life, I have observed not only my Mother, but every grown woman becoming a mother, a caretaker, a home to her child, to her pet, to her nation. Yes, Motherhood is innate in them. Just hand over a doll to a five-year-old girl, and she will comb the hair, brush her teeth, and make her go to sleep. Do the same for a boy. Bless me, if you get to see the toy in one piece! That's how motherhood harvests.
God has unmistakenly placed a seed of selfless fostering in a woman. That seed starts growing the second she lets out her cry in the world. The seed parts and the stem escaped upwards, wide opening the leaves and freely flowing the tendrils when she gets her first barbie. The stems harden to a trunk when she sees the foster cares and how well they really care. The exponentially deepening routes find their way to the deepest and most solemn part of her heart and cover it in its entirety. The tree gives fruits and fragrant flowers when she finds a child of her own. This is how a mother is born and made. The birth is gifted, but the growth needs its own set of catalysts. And maybe that's why, I, who still hangs on to her own mother for even a bath towel and a silly cup of coffee, has not yet found an ounce of altruism in me. I have not yet met my cataysts. Moreover, my confusion and partial aversion for kids doesn't help either.
But hey, I am a best daughter. And no, its not self-proclaimed. My own mother told me so! But again, she sees the best in everyone.