It is neither an article nor a story, but these are my feelings, in which you may not be interested, but I would urge you to continue reading. My relationship with my mom was very critical as any young adult girl would have. I always misunderstood my mom like hell, but was she worth my ignorance and rude tantrums? I will be revealing this story because you are with me in this journey and I feel that you should know what the actual meaning of life is and what exactly mother is. It’s well said that whatever you see has two sides, two people may see same thing, but they analyse and evaluate it differently, because different people have different perceptions. Same thing happened with me too.

I always wanted to live life on my own terms. I tried to do everything, what mom didn’t like. She didn’t like me roaming with those frivolous boys and stupid girls, who always lied to their parents and slept with their colleagues for few bucks to fill their pockets. We did party every night and bunked school and lectures since I grew up. I always tortured and lied to my mom.

I can define my relation with my Mom with a single word, HATE. I hated her because she stopped me from doing everything wrong, yes wrong! She tried to stop me at that time too, when I became a well known doper in my college, I did all this simply because I wanted to hurt her. My mom loved me a lot and I hated her a lot throughout her life! I don’t know why. What was the reason to hate her so much?

It may be because of that childhood memory, which is blurred and still not clear. That memory still haunts me and makes my senses go feeble and blocks my mind. Dad passed away when I was just 3 years old. I was 6 years, when one day I saw my mother going with some other man at night. It was raining heavily and street poured out like well.

I said: “Mom wait, brother is waiting at home and he wants you to be with him, he is not well, he needs you”.

My brother had severe fever and he needed mom. But she didn’t listen, and moved on. My brother died. I blamed mom for that. If she would have stayed and treated my brother with some medicines and called some doctor, then he would have been saved. I loved my brother a lot, he was the only possession left with me.

Days passed by and I still couldn’t find who that man was. I tried to ask, but she turned mute. Mom was not well one day and she suffered from cancer. I called doctor but it was of no use because it was too late. She hid her disease from me since years. At night when she was suffering from heavy bloody vomiting, somehow I felt a strange satisfaction in watching her suffer.

I felt, she is paying price of killing my brother. Now my brother’s soul would get some peace. Suddenly a man came out of the limousine and walked towards my mother; she tried to speak but couldn’t talk because of the blood that totally blocked her mouth. She tried to stop that man as if not to tell anything but the man didn’t listen. He knew my attitude towards my mom. Before my mom could utter anything, she died. The man continued:

“She picked a bud thrown away; many years back from the unknown street of Goa and brought it home. Many people stopped her but she pledged that day that she will turn that bud into a beautiful flower that will make all the scenes of her life beautiful and extraordinary. She knew that her son was ill. She tried to arrange the doctor and medicines, but I came in between, to show her one more bud, which was lying down on the same street.

She came with me and picked up that bud to give her a life, which would be worth living. She did that to save that bud from the paws of those hungry lions that will grind that bud under their feet within no time. You were the earlier bud and now my adopted daughter is the second bud.”

I was taken aback! This is what my mother was; this is what the word mother means! Life didn’t give me a single chance to understand her and when I got the chance, she was no more. There is no time to repent now!