maa..

Maa….

We all have come to this world with specific purpose , and it wouldn't be long that we shall figure it out too.  She came to this world to become a mother , she came to spread love , she came to take care of everyone , and I am one of the lucky few who stood on the receiving end  .

She was introduced to me , by my mother as my sister’s caretaker , and I had no idea , that this introduction would lead to an everlasting friendship and a bond which I  would treasure for years to come .

She was in her late 40’s . A typical sindhi woman , dressed in her bright Punjabi suit , tall , a little on the healthier side , pink and plump cheeks , big brown kohl  lit eyes , henna colored golden brown hair carefully pleated in a ponytail elegantly covered by a chunni , beautiful slender fingers and a smile which could give a run for money to any young aspiring model .

If I was ever asked to describe an angel , I might probably end up adding white feathers to the same word picture.

She used to come  before I would leave for school and stay till mum and dad returned from work .

Everyday she would walk me to the bus stop , on the way she would ask about my friends , my teachers , my favorites in the class , people i disliked , everyone .
She would inquire if some kid was bulling me over , if I had completed my homework  and many other whats whys and who(s).

She used to blend her questions in such stories that I never realized I answered them .

She knew everyone , from my small world , from the girl in my class whom I hated the most to the man who used to sell samosas in the small stall outside the school ,our old driver ji who I used to talk to on my way to school and on my way back, the conductor who took away the whistle from me , which my friend gave to me in school ( I blew that whistle , and driver ji  thought it was the conductor. He stopped the bus . They looked at each other , puzzled and after a small debate my red whistle was confiscated for no reason !)

Breakfast was something she was very particular about , she made sure I finished it .

I had probably tried every trick in the book to fool her with the glass of milk , but never did I succeed.  I used to get annoyed on her for making me drink all milk and making me finish my breakfast , but a frowning face was too tough to sustain after the shower of compliments and friendly teasing , she had an antidote for everything .

Her book must have been heavier than mine .

Everyday after sending me off for school, she would return home. She would give my sister a bath , feed her , sing her a lullaby , wave her till she would fall asleep , and try to finish the regular cleaning as much as possible till the little devil would get up and start crying again . It must have been a tedious job , for I remember , when my kid sister used to start crying once , she would go on till the neighbors would come knocking on the doors. There were thousands of diapers that needed to be changed , and hundreds of clothes which needed to be cleaned as the day would come to an end  , but , never did she complain .

I used to return from school in the afternoon. Sometimes tired of the bus wresting with other kids , sometimes happy and full of energy on the newly acquired action figure or some heroic story of how I beat someone in the school bus  wresting. Sometimes hiding the oil slick on my shirt caused by the tight Tiffin box , and sometimes the torn pocket , she would let me say my story , decide over it  and tell her verdict , I never lied about anything to her , coz she listened to every word I said , she let me grow .

She was totally against  me fighting with other kids , and would often get upset about it , but I would explain her that it was just a way of testing the righteous owner of the window seat , she would smile and run her fingers through my hair . I wasn't so found of that. I would complain and tell her that I never liked it , on which she would tease me saying “there aren’t girls around here “ , I would blush and try to hide myself in her loose suit  .

I remember making her run behind me for changing the school uniform , going to bed in the same uniform after getting tired , and getting up in different clothes , I still wonder how she used to do that. Probably all that and much more came from her book. Her magic book !

She allowed me to watch t.v till she cooked lunch for us and till I finished it .

Here , I used to play a trick , I would eat slowly , chewing over a thousand times , so that I could finish at least two of my favorite shows . Both of us hated watching news , but it was fun with her , she would comment on the way the news reader dressed up , that her cheeks were red like tomatoes , and that she resembled someone from her neighborhood who was fat and lazy .   

I remember the most funniest jokes being told , by her .

She was fun to be with , and an expert at making friends . She was fun to talk to and even though all her stories had the same characters and would somehow end in pretty much the same way , they were fun to listen to . She used to fill so many details that I used to dream with my eyes wide open , and sleep off in her lap , I remember asking the same questions over and over again and being answered patiently .

Before she came to take care of my sister , she was used to work in a kindergarten , even though she couldn’t read , she knew all the alphabets , mnemonics and all the nursery rhymes , as my sister grew and she began talking in her rickety tone , eating half of the words. She stared singing rhymes which she remembered , to my sister , sometimes we all used to sing together , we had our own choir .

Me , my sister and her , together we could give any choir some serious competition . 

Summer vacations were the time , when we would not see each other for long , we would visit my grandmum in Kerala.  She would bring something for me and my sister to eat from , on the journey .

I never cared for fancy chocolates , I liked the orange candies she used to bring , 8 for 1 coin .

She would bring hundreds of those and give it to me. Ask for a few promises , not to skip any meal of the day , not to fight with anyone and a thousand of other things . She would kiss my sister and me goodbye , and I always wondered why her eyes used to become so wet , I wondered if she was crying , it was tough to tell , and on being asked she would  break into a chuckle and hug me tightly and run her fingers through my hair , but , sometimes I didn’t mind .

Once I heard my mother tell my aunt that ‘she’ didn’t have any children , my mother was wrong , she had children and lots of them , she probably had more children than anyone I knew of .

I always believed , even with a hundred children around her , she would have loved us , the same way .

She saw us grow , soon my sister was old enough to go to the school .

Usually and in fact  on all occasions , children cry on their first day of school , but my sister did not , coz she was there with her whole day , she was there to feed her lunch , to make her friends with .

And my sister in turn introduced her to all her friends , she now had a big lot to take care of , and she did it with all her heart .

I do not remember her last day at our place , but I do remember waiting for her . Those must have been the longest days of my life , our coir was short of a member , I was bereft of a lap to sleep on , there was none to listen to my heroic tales ,absolutely  none to comment on the news reader and none to tease me.

I wouldn’t have minded if she wished to run her fingers through my hair , I only wanted her to come back .

Few years later , she visited us , and the kohl lit eyes were still the same , beautiful and big , the cheeks were pink and plump frilled with a few lines of wrinkles near her eyes  ,  the golden brown hair had strands of gray in them and she was as beautiful as she had ever been , and could give any young girl a run for her money .

She was a mother , to us . She was our maa ….