Why is 'ma' usually the first word uterred by a child? How does the touch of a mother feel like? Why is it that child is able to recognise the aroma of mother and rushes towards her anytime in trouble?
I was just pondering on all these questions after reading an article on one of the web-sites marked as 'Mother's Day Special'.
In my case I never ran to my mother but my father whenever I was troubled. I lost mother at the tnedr age of two but I am proud I have a father who took all it needs to bring up a child like me....salute to my FATHER....I LOVE YOU.

 

“I have seen things falling apart at my home. My family, my prized possession just felt apart like a house of cards,” thought Rahul and tears trolled down his checks. The pain was immense with nobody around to share.

Just then mobile rang up and he picked up the call reluctantly. “Hello” – said Rahul while the person on the other end appeared to have swallowed many words. The reaction of Rahul’s face changed from disbelief to realization that he lost somebody he loved the most and now who can answer to his query, this question started resounding in his ears.

He was half plae by the time the person on the other end hung up and he fell on the floor crying his heart out. Had his father been there to look at him, he would have laughed over th entire situation and would have callef him ‘crybaby’ but now he will never call him that way since he moved on to nother journey.

It was still dark but Rahul was in the dining room pondering over the happenings of last few days. He wished to return back to his native but he was stuck here in Pune with exams. Why I chose to come here for Post-Graduation – thought Rahul.

Though his father was dead against his decision of taking up Journalism as his career choice, he remained adamant and subsequently managed to fulfill the dream he had seen long back, that is, to carve a niche for himself in the field of Journalism.

But today, sitting in the dining room he was repenting over his decision of coming so far. What am I doing in the midst of strangers – struck him and it did not take him long to decide his course of action. He decided to go back and be with his father but yet again what would he tell his father as why he came back when his post-graduation was just half way through.

The silence was engulfing his strength and he felt very weak for some strange reasons. Last night he wept again over the fact that he was missing his father more than ever. He still remembered vividly as how his father wept when he came down to Bangalore to pursue his graduation in Journalism. For a moment he felt of breaking all the shackles and flee back to him but that could have spoiled his entire plans of making it big in the media industry on his own.

He always took pride in the fact that being from a middle class, Hindi speaking family, he was well versed with the language of the Brit. His father’s faith had often shattered his entire being but that is how life is!

He stood up and moved to the wardrobe where he kept his most cherished gift, a watch presented by his father on his last birthday. Taking out the watch, he felt an urge to switch on the radio and listen to the music while others slept with out any care.

Music might wake up the entire building – he thought and finally took out his old collection of cassettes. Looking at his most valuable possessions, the old melodies of Lata Mangeshkar, he switched on his walk-man and played the song he liked the most.

But, today his favourite song failed to give him solace and finally, he switched it off and took another sleeping pill. He had been taking these pills since the day he had his first attack of breathlessness. Sitting in the class and listening to the lecture on spirituality, he fainted to find himself in Hospital some time later.

He wished that he had died but death does not come to those who are blessed.

8…number Eight. Sitting near the verandah Rahul was wondering as who might have sent him this letter he held in his hand firmly. Written in hand, the sender wanted to remain anonymous and instructed Rahul to keep it a secret till the time is ripe and circumstances stable.
The letter urged him as why he never enquired about his mother? And the prominence of number eight in his life. He still remembered that his mother breathed last on 08/08/88 at 8 pm.
This number Eight, but how a number can be unfortunate? Untoward incidents can happen on any day. It might have been sheer co-incidence is what Rahul used to think till he received this letter.
And today again it was 8 July 2007 when this letter came from…from where? ‘Can’t I go to papa and enquire about it! He might help me out to identify the hand-writing and consequently the person who wrote this letter to me’, thought Rahul.
He felt little bugged with the thought of never enquiring about the lady who brought him to this world? What if she died when he was merely 2 years old, but still he could have asked his father.
But he never felt the need to enquire about the lady whom he never saw and had no memories to look back. ‘But who could have sent this letter’, whispered Rahul and suddenly realized the need to call up his sister.
He always felt very close to her and she had taken the place of mother in his mind. Why would he ever think of his mother when so much of love was showered upon him by his sister and father?