A typical conversation between her and me, goes like this -
"Maa, what tattoo should I get this year?", I ask.
Pat comes the reply, "Stop being such a wannabe Gayu."
"Oh gosh, I'm drunk", I announce after one shot of sweet liquor
"Who told you to drink so fast? Such a mallu you are.", she declares.
I think the only time I've ever seen my mother crumble, was when I lost the love of my life and for the first time ever, she wasn't able to help.
As I spiralled out, she let me be and when I drowned myself at work, she once again let me be.
She's mostly just let me be, a wild child in control of my life. She's trusted me with everything except feeding her grandson. That's where she draws the line and yanks the plate out of my hand, to stuff his face with food.
A tough cookie on the outside and soft as gelato on the inside, that's my mum. My voice of reason, when I want to listen to reason.
My mother gets me like no one else in the world. I'll always be Mumma's girl, firstly and lastly.
No comments:
Post a Comment