Amma must not cry

Amma took a glance at my identity card.
‘Issued on 01 March 2017’
She goes past to the time when a baby-her baby-lay peacefully in her hands. Realizing that she has grown up, realizing that the ‘so-called-spring’ that had visited the mother has not arrived and if arrived, then repelled by a rebellious and spirited daughter.

Amma took a clean white sheet of paper on which she wrote our home addresses, landline numbers, all the known and unknown cell numbers, ‘whom-to-contact-list’, emergency numbers- everything-and stuffed inside that bag. Did she find out that I lied? You are right Amma-It is not a conference. But I do not mean to elope too. It is a different crazy idea. It is an idea that comes only in later life, at the end of life or at the worst part of life.

Taking a glance at the paper, I saw old ‘nostalgic’ mobile phone numbers-a call from the past. My old friends reminding all friendships which actually lay hidden. But she knew everything and she was brilliant enough to collect and preserve them in a small diary, which I myself had not much bothered about. She valued my friends now. She is overlooking her ‘self-sustenance’ and ‘self-reliance’ factors. A poor mother does not want her daughter of live of her own.

She realizes that her daughter has just started to feel at ease at the taste of freedom. Hers is not a strong heart after all and a ‘24x7 traveler daughter’ is the last thing she wanted, of what she expected.

Tonight I would cling on to Amma just how we were years ago. Papa had already gone to sleep in his room, imagining his daughter at the so-called-conference, thinking if she has confirmed her tickets, planning tomorrow’s early wake up, breakfast....Everything is planned and it must be.

I did say a big lie: A conference at Kanpur papa .But to convince Amma with such a big lie is not so easy. She figured it out. After all it was she who brought me out, brought me up. I did not know when life took a religious spiritual turn. It seemed to be the fate of all day dreamers and the depressed.
Dear papa-everything, all lies, to add colors to my life or that’s what I mean.
******
In bed Amma held me as tightly as never before. She asked,” what is your plan?”

“Amma...do not ask-two weeks...please...”
“I hate those ‘what-why-where-how-when-where’...just believe that I would be safe.

Amma did not speak. She knew it would not help.
While running my fingers on her face, I felt her eyes that were wet, from which two hot drops popped out. It was indeed painful. My thoughts were muddled. Perhaps Amma has started to think like others-to complain-to pass that irritating remark. Amma might have joined that group of people who ask, “Don’t you value others’ emotions?” Yes I do. But, alas, I cannot prove. I did not learn to soothe the wounds and I would not.

I will bring you pills; do not tell me to treat you,
I will give you care, do not tell me to love you,
I will give you money; do not tell me to save it for you,
I will sympathize with you; do not tell me to show it off.

Amma, have you fallen asleep?
You wanted to add colors to my life, didn’t you? You won in adding all colors that book could ever provide, that success could provide, that dress and jewelry could provide, that TVs and play stations could provide. Loneliness, too, had a color Amma-It was the most dreadful colors you always say-black. It colored my heart, Amma. Did you not realize that the red patch on forehead is not the only color that a woman has in life?

Amma-please if you can, do not say I was unjust. No one would blame you for anything. Don’t you know how much it hurts to see you with tear filled eyes?
Amma- Just believe that your girl is always different-which you always wanted.

It is not an escape-just to draw a difference-to capture, absorb, a different atmosphere. Believe me...I do not go for a Tapas- Just a journey. You would not find me returning as a nun. Just that I would breathe some holy air, find if that would end my entire inquest and give me peace for life.
******

Papa gave me a cheerful ‘bye’. Amma kissed me on my left cheek, but this time there was no impression. It had been my most cherished memory that when we kissed each other, we always left a liplike patch of wetness on each others cheeks and laughed. No patch, no laugh this time. It became a hateful ‘simply-a-mother-and-daughter’ business. I smiled at papa and relaxed-tried to relax. Amma was still looking me top to toe. From the car I popped my head out and gave her a flying kiss. She forced a laugh then waved her hand. Did a tear fall?
*********