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Water Sheds in the Quilt

My mother always wanted a girl. And all my listening life, I’ve kept hearing this again and again. She had a baby girl abortion before me. I understand her feelings, at least I try to. I sometimes try to do things that a girl in the family would have done, that I normally wouldn’t, even though sometimes I just want to rush out and run away at the thought of that.

But today evening, I snapped. My mother was away for 2 days, and she’d just come when I woke up after an afternoon nap. After all the things that have happened to her, from her childhood drunken father beatings to marrying a man of her choice who wasn’t what she thought he was, I had seen such, and I knew that even further, there would be days, she wouldn’t be particularly happy because of the ghosts thoughts of the past that wouldn’t get out of her head, and make her try to snatch the tears that fell away, so that she wouldn’t spend her next two days finding it hard to sleep because of pain in the eyes.

So my mother didn’t smile when she came into the bedroom. She informed me that she had to go shopping for her friend’s son’s marriage since she had been with her in the crisis when I or any other family member wasn’t and that she’d been asking for it. I wasn’t particularly interested in going because I’ve been having a before quarter life crisis of my own. Having recently quit my first job, to take care of my brother and things at home, I’m working on a tech idea that needs some sitting in front of my Mac, and exploring. And it needs so in big sittings. With mom in the house, something is always coming up and I’m always happy to do it for her because it makes things less difficult and strenuous for her.

As soon as I didn’t reply back in a jiffy, she said

If I had a daughter, she’d go.

And I couldn’t do anything but to respond back that I’d go and shove my head in the quilt pretending to be tossing around in sleepy state and trying to get up when I actually couldn’t bear this sharp arrow  and shed a significant stream of salty tears that just managed to not go in my mouth.

I couldn’t have expressed anger because Indian households are very different in the manner. I’d just have ended up apologizing, in the end, to make her feel better. So I deliberately breathe when anger erupts to make it go away.

She’s been through so much, so has my father, it’s such a weird story, that sometimes I find it hard to trust anything that they sometimes say because there have been so many versions of the same source of feeling or truth, I find it hard.

So I gulp in.

All Blog Posts’ P.S: English is my second language, and I do not write well in my first (Hindi). While reading my blogposts, if you find a sentence or paragraph that can be written in a better way, or find any grammatical mistakes, please feel free to suggest them in the comments. I’d really appreciate it. And you are awesome!

 

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