You cuddled me and cheered me up. You told me that it's all
right, again and again. In your arms, I felt the warmth of your love. I felt
safe, as you caressed me. When I cried, you wiped my tears and you cried with
me. You spent sleepless nights during my sickness and bad days. You're the
method to my madness, the reason why I am so brave. You always managed to sense
the desperation beneath my cajolery. You're the reason why I've taken several steps
towards events where I knew I was surely to get hurt. Yet, you asked me to take
a chance. And you were the only one who did, so I did, I got hurt, but I learnt
to lift myself up. You never let me be the burnt child who dreaded the fire.
You helped me gain ground. You're a Good Samaritan, you forgive so easily. You
extol the person who has hurt you, and it's beyond my realms of understanding
how you manage to do that.
And the times I have turned my face away from yours might be
innumerable. A hundred little conflicts, fights and wishes that entailed being
born far away from you now seem evil on my part, because it was always you who
consoled me. Oh, how I always thought that you picked me to pieces and
projected your aspirations on mine. But it's not your fault. Everybody in this
world is allowed to have expectations. I do too. And yet you supported me no
matter what.
Your beliefs were never my
beliefs, I evolved and changed and yet you accepted me for all that I am. I
never believed in your God- his infinite knowledge, his love, his existence-it’s
always a big joke to me. Yet we understood each other and existed on the same
ground, happily. Our subtle perceptions and abstruse philosophies learnt to
intermingle, and it’s still a work in progress. I can only imagine somebody to
love me unconditionally, like you have. When did it matter if it were an
obligation or not?
But I know now that I'm not a
child anymore; I can't crawl back into your arms whenever I feel scared. I
can't cry to you every time things went haywire because the number is
uncountable. I can't discuss with you the interminable fights I fight with
myself. I can't bother you with callow stories of all the whippersnappers I'd
to deal with in my life. You don't tell me anymore that I'm too young for love
because I'm too old to not know. You don't ask me where I'm headed, because I'm
too old to not figure out the directions to a place that's far away from home.
You don't ask me whom I'm talking to (not until you see a smile on my
face!).
You know exactly how much pain
I can tolerate as I say I can't be hurt.
And you know one thing best,
mother - to mollycoddle me.
Oh don't I hate being so cliché?
But take this as a spiritual
epiphany. I've always wanted to be myself. And these are my very genuine
feelings. Here's to you, before these words get lost in a cobweb at the back of
my mind and I'm too dazed to make sense of it all, before I use up all the
words to cook up stories that hold no face value, here's to you.
