Tried and Tested but Seldom Accepted

The scene is set at home. The writer is sitting on the computer, practicing and learning Srikanto Acharya’s ‘Tumi Kemon Kore Gaan Koro’.  The writer’s mom suddenly appears and commands her to take a bath since the housemaid might be there at any minute. Just then the sound of the doorbell reverberates through the house. It doesn’t take more than a minute for the mother’s eyes to turn red. There is the distinct possibility that the maid would complete her work before the writer can go take her bath and give the dirty clothes for washing.

By now, you must have guessed the writer to be me, of course. So now I am at the receiving end of icy glares and the possibility of a good sounding. Already mom has starting saying what a frustrating and thankless creature I am. As I rush to take out fresh clothes to wear, I can hear her distinct voice, “I’ve said this before too. You’re nothing more than a millstone around my neck. …. Don’t you dare talk back! What do you think of yourself?” It doesn’t take much for mom’s fuse to go off.

The phrase millstone continues to go around in my head, occupying every bit of my conscience. More and more of me feels wounded. Just a moment back, mom was cuddling me like I was a baby and being all happy. I’ve been her daughter for so long and I am still amazed at her tempestuous moods. Moreover, what hurts me the most is how she belittles my love for her whenever she’s angry or in a bad mood. I am always the lazy sloth slumping around the house for her. I guess she’s justified at times. But it doesn’t ever sound very comforting, does it? I wonder how many years do I have to live before she’s okay with me?