Category: Tributes

Happy Birthday Mumma

Two years ago:
Me: Where is my white Punjabi?
Her: How am I supposed to know? Should be in your wardrobe
Me: Well it isn’t there; that’s why I’m asking
Her: Did you check in the trolley below or on the bed where your clothes are generally lying about, with you bothering to fold them
Me: Do you always have to bring it up when I’m getting late; I’ll do it when I get back in the evening
Her: That moment never comes
Me: Anyways found it, it was in the trolley and don’t say I told you so. What’s in the tiffin today
Her: Baingan Bharta
Me: Why, no other good vegetable?
Her: You don’t eat many that I can have a variety
Me: Where is my water bottle
Her: Here, you can’t even fill it
Me: Bye…see you in the evening
15 years ago:
Me: The plaits are not symmetrical
Her: Minu your bus will arrive in 10 minutes they look fine
Me: No they don’t, undo them and tie them again
Her: There done it
Me: Still not in line
Her: Minu the school bus is waiting, and I too have to leave for office. Here is your lunch basket, go properly
Me: Bye, but they are still not in line

I am an only child so you were my sister and my friend. I fought with you, threw tantrums and harassed you.
As a kid when I had holiday from school and you had to go for office I would not stop wailing. I know how guilty I must have made you feel.

After a tiring day at work I’ve seen you enter the kitchen without a crib and cook the best food in the world day in and out. Make hot hot chappatis for me as I loved them. You would set my tiffin, prepare my lunch basket, tie my hair, dress me up and pack me off to school. You would take me around for my dance and singing classes. You would take my Hindi and Marathi language lessons and I would give you a horrendous time over the grammar. My shopping visits were incomplete without you, still are! We both used to have a great time eating outside though you would always complain that I ate too much of outside food; but whenever we went out you made it a point to take me to my favourite places.

As I grew up I started spending lesser amount of time at home and more in college and with friends. A new world was beckoning me and I was enjoying it. You on the other hand were letting me do so despite missing my presence in the house. We would have umpteen fights over numerous issues and then I would not talk to you until Papa came and made us two patch up. I enjoyed that because you would just let go of all the anger and pamper me again. Saying sorry even though not your fault came so easily to you and why is it that I find it so tough?

You had a tremendous sense of discipline just like Papa which both of you inculcated in me. I was scared to go away from home for my first job and you gave me the courage to do so.

You just let me be, with all the faults and all the flaws. You missed Papa but you took care of us just fine. You were just glad he had been around till I was a grown up little lady. There are times when I’ve not been there for you and I feel really sorry for that. You would complain and then come back saying you understood that I had other things to do.

Now that I’m married, I know where I keep my clothes, my wardrobe is never a mess, I do my own cooking (they tell me I have inherited your taste), my room is as spic-n-span as you always stressed it should be. But when I get back to our home I will always need you. It’s not about doubling your work, but it’s about getting to see you do those things for me day in and out without tiring; which just about explains the love you have for me.

I hope someday when I have my own little one I’ll be able to do half of what you have done for me.

No daughter in this world takes her mom for granted even though all moms feel that, especially not a loving one like yours. I might not say it often but you are the best mom I could have ever asked for. I don’t need a special day to tell you this but since I don’t express often, I thought why not today?
So that is your little present and here is wishing you a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUMMA

Happy Birthday Papa…

Your face lit up,
The day you held her in your arms,
Years of waiting, years of prayers,
Had finally brought the smiles.

The man above chose a wonderful day,
To let her walk into your world of two,
The same auspicious day,
He had chosen to unite you two.

Home of two,
Now abode of three,
Two faces smiling and glee,
A little toddler binding thee.

Little lady growing into a brat,
She was your raja, beta and a champ at that,
Driving her mom crazy and mad,
You would convince her mom she wasn’t that bad.

You held her little hands,
Taught her to walk and run on the sands,
Sands of time they were to be,
She knew you would always be there to guide thee.

Every evening she would wait at the door,
For the bell to ring twice,
The unique bell to remind her,
You had come to make her day twice as nice.

Mom knew she was becoming you,
A little version she said,
How will she be without you,
She worried and said.

She would often ponder how you would react:

At her graduating into a young rebel lady,
At her independence in thoughts,
At her getting her first salary,
At her friends who were lovable brats,

At her choice to live away from home,
At her choice to marry the guy she loved,
At her constant arguing with mum,
At the values and principles she developed,

At her every little thing!

She still ponders over and over,
She tries to gauge your reactions,
From the 17 years you spent with her,
Would it be similar to what her mind mentions?

She questions and finds no answer,
Why did god love you so,
To keep you with him forever,
Why was he unfair to take you so.

She is treading carefully on the sands of time,
Looking up to find your assuring smile,
She reaches home and waits aside,
Hoping someday that doorbell will ring twice!

The Curse of 3…

First Mushtaq Ali, then Eknath Solkar (My tribute to him) and now the lesser known Baloo Gupte.
All three were Indian Test-Cricketers.

In my tribute to Sunil Dutt I had mentioned that, I’ve observed since long that often, 3 personalities from the same field expire in few days from each other.

It is a strange coincidence that has occurred too many times. And now again.

Page 2 of 2

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén