Who loves you most?

Do you remember being asked this question when you were younger (well, in pre-teens to be presice)? Mostly by distant aunts or family friends, your very much older cousins and many a times your play-mates. I do. And ofcourse I do remember my answer too. My dad!

My father was the naughtiest amongst his 5 other siblings and so was bought up with the beatings and thrashings an 8 year old gets when he twists his friend's already broken arm because the friend had complained about him breaking the friend's arm at the first place, or a teen-ager who waits under the banyan tree with his friends to see if there are any ghosts materializing while returning home after the late night movie – even after getting the strict instructions of reaching home straight after the movie. Well that was my father once.

And so when his own kid (me) came in to the world, I believe he wanted the best for me (as any father would want). After all the thrashings he got, he never wanted the same for me! And so, I tell you all – my father has never raised a hand on me, NEVER. Well, naturally now the father wins the favour of the kid because he has never beaten you, never pinched you, doesn't ask you to play inside the compound only, strictly says no when you want that chocolate for the second time, or warns you of no-play-for-a-day if the homework is not finished, or shouts at you when after 7 o'clock you have disappeared from the playground to play somewhere you cannot be called from – which is what my mother precisely did!

And so, I believed my father loved me the most as against my mother. Okay ... so when asked this question – Who loves you most? - I knew the answer inside my head, but taking stands and choosing one parent in front of another person was not my style, but I eventually (and always) pour the answer out (not so eagerly I mind you)

But as days passed and I grew up, my little brain ticked differently too. If I returned late 15 minutes from college, my mother was jittery, if I wanted to go at my friends place a kilometer away and she insisted that I give a missed call at home when I reach her house, if I mentioned I wanted to go to a friend's birthday party 10 km away – my mother insisted that she accompany me and wait outside until I return and accompany me back (quite embarrassing for a teenager). All this made me angry and feel hurt and thought - she doesn't let me do anything on my own! My angry fight-backs only brought the most silliest comment (i thought) – You wont understand it now, you will know when you will have a kid of your own (Yuck!)

An angry teenager (that's me) sweared to study very hard and will go far-far-away for higher studies.

And so when the day came to leave town, my heart leaped with joy to be “free” (Ofcourse it comes with a price, you cannot be along the same parents who have taken care of you through thick-and-thin). But soon I heard my mother's anguish and asked me to call her every day, I knew it was not going to be like I thought it would be. If I called late what I heard was her worried sound, if I have to be out for a party – she asked me to call again after I reach back no matter what time it would be. If I was traveling home, I was to call at a stipulated time during the journey, I was not to travel for home after 6p.m (its took 6 hours to my home then). Whoa.. that's not freedom.

So time passed and I was slowly accepting the ways (how much ever obnoxious I sound). And with time, my mother's worries have only increased. Really, now if I am traveling home and bus is late, she simply cannot wait patiently – she looks outside the window every minute and paces around (like that's gonna help!) the house until I reach home. If I have my cell on silent mode and she has called me a few times (okay may be a bit more than few times) and I dont pick up, she calls all my roomates (I hate that for some reason) and thankfully that serves the purpose or I am sure she would call my ex-roomates or my boss at the office!

But deep within me, I have this nagging feeling that comes up out of nowhere – that its not your mother's fault you don't have freedom. It is your fault to have a misplaced judgment of freedom. Freedom doesn't only mean to roam around as you like, to party as much as you like, to stay at office to finish work till as long as you wish, to go to friends' house without acknowledging the fact that someone is waiting for you to reach back, to play as long as you like, to go out of the compound walls and rush to the roads to play you favourite sport. .... Freedom is more that it. Freedom is to go to school and study, freedom is to be back home and have someone help you finish home-work for the next day after which you can play, freedom is being given a choice for your dinner, freedom is to have someone make you your favourite hot and sizzling bhajjis when you wish to have some, freedom to have a choice of profession.

Freedom is to be away from all worries in this whole wide world. Only when you know that whatever may happen, that one person will always be there – looking at you, picking up when you fall, encouraging you when your steps falter, smiling at your return and wishing you luck for the next adventure – can you truly be washed off the worries in life (or rather worries don't worry you as much)

This last visit to my home, my mom was accounting her travel alone to our native place. As she started the journey, the train was full of people and as night fell, all passengers got down on the way to my utter surprise of my mom who expected to have company till the end. She got worried and when she realized that all sections in her compartment was empty except for 3 men at the other end of the boggie she completely lost it. She could hear the laughing and joking voices of these men far away, she had no idea if they were respectable men or some goons on the way. She switched off the light above her and sat by the window wrapped around a shawl and kept her eyes open, never letting herself to sleep and keeping a watch or rather listening to approaching steps (You can now imagine what my mother went through then). After 8 or so hours of pin-drop silence, no light, no sleep she finally relaxed when some people started to board the train in the morning. When she said this tale at the end she added something – something that made me shiver. She said, she was so thankful to God that I was not with her in that journey (I was surprised here) otherwise she would have died then and there if anything would have happened to me then.



Who loves you most?

I know my father loves me the most. But my mother's love – its inexplainable, unmeasurable, unaccountable, unremitting, unconventional, unconditional. And my father agrees whole heartedly.

 

Mom-dad we love them all dont we
Thanks for you encouraging words.

 

Thank you tweety dear!

 

Yes, friend's many a time pass on flustering comments. Thats one of the reasons we so much so do ot accept our parents' ways!

Glad I made you think

 

Thanks you ILT for your nice words.

So true isn't it? She does throw away her life and all other relations to be there with you, for you, only you. I have felt sad for so many times that I have done so much selfish stuff without thinking. But its is also true that a child cannot love back her mother as much as a mother loves her, howmuch ever se tries she can never compete her mother's love!

Thank you so much for waiting up and writing your thoughts and kind words, it really made a difference!