I sit down to write, here, because (CachinnatingCockatoo!) Ma told me that she read one of my posts. [For those who cannot tell, that is Captain-Haddockism {for those who cannot tell- from Tintin (for those who cannot tell - really?)}]
Talking about the glorious fantasticity of mother (mine or yours, actually all mothers) is, well, several minutes of clacking keyboard keys and then clacking at the delete button for another almost attempt. It brings me to where I am aware that I should just get up and get a snack because that is easier to do.
Together, we lived the confusion of the reverse-gearing of the violet-color-pencil incident and the consequent terror-induced numbness for a six year old; and her voice held me in a warm embrace for some beautiful moments over an inexpensive VoIP call.
Such magic.
Once, we decided to take a bus to the city for a girls' day out. We lived at the end of Noida where all you could do to do anything was to take a bus to Delhi where you could actually do something - like the famous eat-shop-eat routine of Dilli Haat, or the Connaught Place ramblings. While we waited for a state-run GL32, a local-goon-owned private bus came zipping by and tempted us with the possibility of a shorter trip time (a combination of reckless driving and the strategic shortcuts) - it wouldn't have taken us as close to our destination, but our wait time under our umbrella under the hot sun would end and we'd be on our way! As soon as we had boarded and before we could get comfortable, I happened to see that GL32 was not far behind, and I was ready to supergirl to it. Only Ma refused to cooperate - that is, deprive the goony driver and conductor of the ticket earnings from us.
(sound of reason and resolution) "It will not be fair to them (pointing at the bus operator), we have already boarded this bus"
(whiny) "BUT Ma, we will NOT have to wait for ANOTHER bus"
We were having this conversation in English (our go-to exchange medium for serious conversations). The bus-operators were able to catch-up soon enough and realized that if the sickly-looking girl got her way, they'd be out of twenty rupees. An altercation followed, where they said that we could de-board provided we pay the full fare. Before I could counter-argue, Ma handed the bus-fare and took a seat. Their menacing demeanor had rattled me and I sat beside her navigating through the maze of my red emotions.
We sat there, together, silent and exasperated with our unwillingness to see the other's viewpoint till we arrived at the stop that required a change of transport. Soon however, we were distracted and happy about being back in civilization - the general color and sounds of the city squeezed us out of our overcast moods.
Her incredible ability to empathize with anyone and anything is the content of moral science books (Chapter 1: "How Suniti taught pigeons to share food" Chapter 2: "How Suniti helped a poor salesman make a living" Chapter 3: "...") Once, she insisted that I purchase a mix of good-looking and less than perfect looking pea pods so that the vegetable and fruit seller person could sell his stock. As kids, we could never get away with wasting food (though I was on the far spectrum when came to fussing about food) because she would gently remind us how important it is to respect food.
I don't know how to conclude this post. She is awesome, what more can I say.
Talking about the glorious fantasticity of mother (mine or yours, actually all mothers) is, well, several minutes of clacking keyboard keys and then clacking at the delete button for another almost attempt. It brings me to where I am aware that I should just get up and get a snack because that is easier to do.
Together, we lived the confusion of the reverse-gearing of the violet-color-pencil incident and the consequent terror-induced numbness for a six year old; and her voice held me in a warm embrace for some beautiful moments over an inexpensive VoIP call.
Such magic.
Once, we decided to take a bus to the city for a girls' day out. We lived at the end of Noida where all you could do to do anything was to take a bus to Delhi where you could actually do something - like the famous eat-shop-eat routine of Dilli Haat, or the Connaught Place ramblings. While we waited for a state-run GL32, a local-goon-owned private bus came zipping by and tempted us with the possibility of a shorter trip time (a combination of reckless driving and the strategic shortcuts) - it wouldn't have taken us as close to our destination, but our wait time under our umbrella under the hot sun would end and we'd be on our way! As soon as we had boarded and before we could get comfortable, I happened to see that GL32 was not far behind, and I was ready to supergirl to it. Only Ma refused to cooperate - that is, deprive the goony driver and conductor of the ticket earnings from us.
(sound of reason and resolution) "It will not be fair to them (pointing at the bus operator), we have already boarded this bus"
(whiny) "BUT Ma, we will NOT have to wait for ANOTHER bus"
We were having this conversation in English (our go-to exchange medium for serious conversations). The bus-operators were able to catch-up soon enough and realized that if the sickly-looking girl got her way, they'd be out of twenty rupees. An altercation followed, where they said that we could de-board provided we pay the full fare. Before I could counter-argue, Ma handed the bus-fare and took a seat. Their menacing demeanor had rattled me and I sat beside her navigating through the maze of my red emotions.
We sat there, together, silent and exasperated with our unwillingness to see the other's viewpoint till we arrived at the stop that required a change of transport. Soon however, we were distracted and happy about being back in civilization - the general color and sounds of the city squeezed us out of our overcast moods.
Her incredible ability to empathize with anyone and anything is the content of moral science books (Chapter 1: "How Suniti taught pigeons to share food" Chapter 2: "How Suniti helped a poor salesman make a living" Chapter 3: "...") Once, she insisted that I purchase a mix of good-looking and less than perfect looking pea pods so that the vegetable and fruit seller person could sell his stock. As kids, we could never get away with wasting food (though I was on the far spectrum when came to fussing about food) because she would gently remind us how important it is to respect food.
I don't know how to conclude this post. She is awesome, what more can I say.
