I still remember the long evening walks I went on with my mother, to fetch a bar of orange-flavored ice cream. It was around 17-18 years back. I was a kid then. I am 23 now, but still a kid, for her.
My mother is exceptionally beautiful, just like all the mothers of the world. The radiant smile, the crooked strand of hair on the edge of her forehead, which has remained curled ever since I first saw her, and bright sparkling eyes – all of them contribute to the image which for me has become an epitome of motherhood, and love.
She might not be able to boast of a university degree, but for me she has been an institution in herself. She taught me much beyond what the books could ever contribute. Resting my hand in her lap, till date, she takes me off on myriad journeys. Only the stories have changed – earlier it was about kings and queens, good and bad, now it’s about relatives near and far, good and bad.
From teaching the basics of the language to the confidence to speak in public, my mother stood by my side, invested her time, patience and efforts on me. She has helped me communicate better, encouraged me to talk my heart out and shaped me to become a better listener and observer.
Yes, she’s indeed an expert in all her fields. She’s the first all-rounder I met. I have seen her work round-the-clock with a glorious smile all along. In my school days, she went to bed after I slept and when I used to wake up to the sight of her preparing my lunch for the day. Neatly decorated and nutritiously balanced box of lunch and a bottle of water was prepared. Then the breakfast and a beautiful motivation to eat it all – she got me ready to face the day.
She is also an expert in reading my mind. If Sherlock Holmes would’ve been alive today, he would probably have been her student. Every twitch of my brow and creases on my forehead blows up an alarm for her that something is troubling me. She comes near, and sits down, asking me to tell her everything. Apprehensive, and often embarrassingly, I put out my heart in front of her. She listens to it all, irrespective of whether she understood anything or not. She lets me vent myself, for she knows this would somehow make me feel better, and eventually her.
A lot of time has passed since the innocent days of childhood. Now I see my mother sitting in front of me, and the ticking clock behind her. Everyone’s aging. I see the palm of her hand turning coarse, and a few traces of wrinkles on her face. Her hair, just above the ear on either sides, are slowly forming patches of grey. I don’t wish to see her grow old. I don’t want her to feel old herself. Thankfully I can do something about the hair. The new Godrej Expert Rich Crème helps bring back the natural shine and color to the hair. It’s completely easy and safe to use. You can learn more about it, by clicking here. I shall definitely get this hair crème to help stop the ticking clock, at least virtually.
All this for my mother, who never aspired to become a perfectionist, but is a perfection in her own self.
Cover image courtesy: freedigitalphotos.net / David Castillo Dominici