Mother and a purple shirt

19^th June, 2015.

It is only one day since baba and bhai had left for west Bengal leaving me to take care of Maa. Now when I say taking care it generally means me sleeping till 9 and then waking up to the best alarm in the world. Her fingers running through my hairs and her voice waking me up. I have never been a good son. Not to her.

Strange woman, my mother is. I cannot understand her, because there are still some things that she leaves for me to understand on my own. For example, 2 days ago, she and Baba went to ISCKON temple; it was the death anniversary of my grandmother. Now, what shall I expect from her if she goes to a temple? Well, maybe the Prasad (I like the besan laddoos).

But, to my amazement, there was something else too! And I must say, my father too is a strange person in that accord. ISCKON is also known for good t-shirts, the ones with Krishna’s 108 names or with ‘hari-naam’ shirt and  stuff like that. Yes, I know that this cannot be strange, but what she did, or was going to do something that wasn’t like her. Upon returning home, she said that she wanted to buy a shirt for me but due to my absence, she couldn’t fix the exact size. Okay, alright, nothing wrong with that, but the next thing said…

She wanted to buy a shirt for “her” too! And my great father, he too agreed. So much so, maa even had considered buying it already, but didn’t. And by the description of the shirt, it didn’t take much of my imagination to create a picture. A purple shirt with a peacock feather.

You know what is strange? Mother, knowing everything about what I’ve gone through or whatever had happened, she still had this feeling. That one feeling of either forgiveness or love. Well, to think of it anyone else might have cursed, or would have done something drastic. But, Maa! Oh mother, why are you like this? Why cannot you be like every other mother in the world who is just so boring? Why do you love so much?

I know I am stupid, all of them say that I am, still in love, still smiling on things, still looking at the roads outside in a drastic, fucked up hope. But what about my Maa? Why does she hopes and smiles? What makes her so strong in one place where I start to lose? Not everybody wants to buy a beautiful dress for a person who is not there. Gone! Or are they really gone? Are they really capable of that? Maybe they can! With everything that’s happening around me, nothing can surprise me. But why Maa? What makes her so loving? What makes her so incalculably forgiving?

I don’t know. I asked her “Why were you going to buy that for her?” she said, “Well, two reasons! You love her and I love her and your father adores her and maybe in the end, everything will be alright! And then again, your love, or love in general, is plain stupid.”

She didn’t buy it though, the shirt. I asked her again, if she chose one why didn’t she buy it? Her answer was reasonable. She said “well, I chose it because I wanted to, the color would look pretty on her, but I didn’t buy it because there isn’t a point! Although, I’ll buy her a dress, I already gifted her one, didn’t I?” I am yet to understand what she meant, but I have seen one thing. If my mother hates someone, the person knows she hates them. But if she loves a person, s/he will be the luckiest person on earth, because then, there would no one thing that my mother wouldn’t do for them. She loves and the person, be it my friends, relatives or strangers, they feel the love in its extremity. Like her, my father is the same. Maybe even Maa looks out of the window on the streets and waits for someone to step down from a gramin sewa or an auto-rikshaw and knock the door. She hopes, and she loves.

Mother, you are stupid. And so am I! I love you.

Regards.