Mother - Sweet Mother of mine

This incidentally is my fifty first post – sort of completed a half century. My first post was dedicated to the memory of my late father. This post, I owe it to my mother, who still looks after me and treats me like her little kid.

My mother, a simple woman, extremely loving and such dedication for one’s family is simply to be seen and believed. My father was her everything, and her two sons , my elder brother ( who is an example to follow – I have tried all these years and seem to be no where near) and I are her two eyes. The family is the end all for her and she is extremely content just seeing all of us happy.

Yes, she has done so much for us and still continues to untiringly do. My late father lovingly called her ‘ Aho! Bhagyavathi Naari’, and they doted on each other for sixty five long years when he bid her good bye. I have been lucky to have great parents and their love and blessings throughout.

My father’s death dealt a severe blow to her enthusiasm and liveliness that for nearly a year she was lost in her own thoughts. Her melodious chanting of morning prayers had stopped, and there were only silent prayers said within herself. A month back, when I was having my morning coffee with her, I mentioned that all of us missed her morning chant and that she start it for our sake. Like a bolt from the blue, she started chanting prayers and it was pure vibrations and ecstasy that filled our house. We are blessed that we hear these chants once again daily morning.

She is eighty two, very enthusiastic and loves to meet people. Her culinary skills are unmatched and she loves to feast guests who come home. Whatever she cooks, would be distributed to all her friends and this has been happening over the years. Though she has always wanted to do things on her own and be independent, she now holds a stick as her support to walk. She, however, looks very cute with a stick, holding her independence in one hand.

What more to say of my mother, she is truly God’s gift. Anne Taylor’s quote would be appropriate to end this piece on my mother.

“Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My mother.”