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Mothers' Day Musings

Updated on May 4, 2015

Happy Mothers' Day

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What could you give on the Mothers' Day to your mother who gave you your first ever gift which no one else could give, namely, birth? She conceived and brought you into this world, gift-wrapped in swathes of unrequited love and tried to make a good job of it at the cost of great personal and physical inconvenience. You think you could have done a better job? Forget it, kiddo. Wait till you see your progeny! How good are your own children? No doubt, they are bigger, more talented and handsome and more successful in life than you yourself are. But, then, would they be half as good as they are, should you have been any lesser than how your mother made you? Look around you. Do you see any one whom you would like to exchange places with? No, I didn't think so either.

But then, you have already given your mother a lot, haven't you? Headaches, heart aches, anxious moments, disappointments .... the list is endless. Whatever she said or did was always with your interests at heart. Remember, in contrast, all those instances when you revolted against your mother, be it about your habits, lifestyle, the person you wanted to marry or the faraway land you wanted to go to and settle down in, because it suited you and your life partner, with nary a thought for your mother in her winter years.

What more could you give her? Chocolates? Not when years of stress and anxiety for your sake have given her a fragile and delicate health not conducive to anything sweet except memories. Perfume? Not all the perfumes and fragrances in the world could evoke the spring in the air she felt when you were last home with her. Jewllery, flowers, silk, gadgets? What use does she have for any of these mundane things which pale into insignificance in contrast to the most priceless gift she gave the world - YOU!

Silver cutlery would be lacklustre in contrast to all the silver in her hair acquired in the process of raising you up.

DIY tools? She has already done it all herself, all that was required to make what you are. Books? What can books teach her when all her motherly wisdom and knowledge of transforming gawky, vulnerable babies into mighty young men of magnificent muscles and beautiful young ladies of peerless pulchritude, could themselves fill a book or two?

Antique furniture and photo frames of old world charm? Try measuring their uniqueness with the mother's ageless bounty and munificence. A quilt to snuggle up with on winter evenings? How much more warmth could it provide than her hugs used to when you felt lonely and afraid?

It is utterly frustrating to select something appropriate for the mother. How about something made of all things good and nice, of utmost value but no price? There is only one thing that befits the description. MOTHER!

Hark! What is that forlorn voice in the wilderness? "Come home, my child!" Is that not a mother's heart crying out in utter anguish and despair, pining for the ecstacy at the prospect of being reunited with her child?

By the time you extricate yourself from the mundane humdrum of life, that fastidious and ruthlessly finicky activity which calls for an endless number of rounds of shadow boxing and ceaseless participation in the vicious rat race of keeping up with the neighbours, mother dear is gone, leaving behind but a waft of her selfless love.

"Mother, where are you?" You are in search of someone whose thought and memory permeate your whole system, world, heart and soul. Not all the search engines in the world, with all their combined might and resources put together, are of any help. Look far, cry bitterly, search hard, yet end up heartbroken. You grope in the dark, fall down and are badly hurt. The one person who could apply balm to your cuts and bruises, heal your wounds and gashes with her fountain of love, smoothen your feverish brow with the gentle stroke of her work-hardened hands and lull you into the comforting world of deep slumber free of the ghosts and goblins lurking in the dark, is gone like the wafting last drops of a bottle of perfume. Gone is she for ever, leaving you behind, a wretched orphan and despicable destitute with a fistful of dollars. My God, man, what have you traded the most precious thing in your life for? You must be raving mad! If you are not affected by the extent of your loss and the tragedy it entails, you are truly a rare specimen!

But, then, a mother is a mother, no matter whose, and there is no dearth of her. Children of the world, unite! Let us celebrate the Mother by showering love and affection on all the mothers of the world on the Mothers' Day and all the ensuing days. That is the least we can do to make our lives meaningful. Mother rocks! Yay!

© 2014 Kalyanaraman Raman

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