Home is where the mum is

Apologies for being absent from the enigmatic world of the Internet for such a long time. The ongoing exams forced me to adopt a pretense of studying and therefore the Internet, naturally, became taboo. However, I think that today, on the extremely joyous occasion of Mother’s Day, I can make an exception.

If I am perfectly honest, then I don’t really have much to say. The reason I am writing this is because today, I wish to show my mother how much she means to me in ways more than a phone call can express. Were I at home, I would have probably laid claim to the kitchen and tried my inexperienced hand at whatever I could cook up without burning down the house. Alas, I cannot. Sitting thousands of kilometers away from home, with very little skill to my credit, this is all I could think of. Apologies for being generic and mainstream, mother, you raised your kid up to be a dramatic.

All mothers are great, of course. Dysfunctional families notwithstanding, children have always found comfort with their mothers. Be it the delicious comfort food which somehow tastes tenfold better when prepared by a mother, or the long talks about trivial problems which leave one feeling all warm and chocolate-y on the inside; mothers have become a central part of our lives. Even in old age, when parents feel that they are being neglected, we have a soft spot for our mothers which will never lose importance, however bad it may seem.

Today, I want to do something which I haven’t done a lot before; something which every good child does every once in a while: I want to apologise. I know I have been a very difficult child at times, and there have been incidences where I have felt great anger towards my mother even when the fault was entirely mine. For being a colossal pain at times, and being rather unbearable most other times, I would like to apologise. I would also like to apologise for all the times I’ve let her down. Like the wonderful human being and the fantastic mother that she is, she never let her faith in me waver even a little, and I do believe that I have repaid her very poorly. I would like to apologise for not living up to your expectations.

I would also like to tell my mother that I love her very much. Most children don’t say this to their mothers often, mostly because we feel it so intensely that we believe our mothers must know it already. Between all the fights and the harsh words and the distances, it can become quite easy for emotions to go awry. So today, when the world has been kind enough to set a day aside especially for mothers, I want to tell her that I love her more than I can express, and certainly more than I can express on a small post in some obscure corner of a worldwide network.

But the apologies and the love are tacit. My mother, being the wonderfully brilliant woman that she is, knows full well that I am sorry for letting her down and a million other things. She also knows, bless her soul, that I love her despite not being regularly in touch and the incessant quarrels. What she doesn’t know, or maybe she does but hasn’t acknowledged, is my dependence on her.

Often, fear strikes within me, uncontrolled and unprecedented, about what would happen were I to lose my mother. Even though I know it’s only a matter of time before I have to say goodbye without the promise of “see you soon”, I find it harrowing to think about what would happen when the day actually comes. I feel both empowered and completely crippled when I say that I am more dependent on my mother than I care to admit. She is the greatest support system I’ve ever had and the thought of losing her drives me insane, as it does every other child on the planet, I’m sure.

It is, of course, quite possible that this entire range of emotions has been launched into overdrive by the stress of the ongoing examination. Perhaps the darkest corners of my brain have, in an attempt to have some light for themselves, latched onto the brightest deities of my mind: the thoughts of my mother. Just because these thoughts are stemming from a stressed head, however, doesn’t mean that they’re not true.

And now, as the cruel education system beckons, I must end this small token. Even though I know that the attempt has been futile, I only hope I’ve captured at least a small ray of the vast spectrum that is the love which I feel for my mother. People usually say that their mother is their friend and parent and companion and all. However, I feel that my mother is a mother; she transcends the trivial relations of friend and parent, and exists in a dimension of her own which is beyond the reach of anyone to have ever existed in the entire universe.

As tears threaten to spill onto my computer, I put an end to this little post.

Thank you for being there even when I thought you wouldn’t be. It means a lot.

I love you, mum.