Tag Archives: tears

Momma is off for a day

Amma don’t leave me and go said my daughter for the 100th time. This while we were in the middle of studying for her EVS test. Right after we agreed that India is a peninsula not an island. Pearly tears formed in her eyes all of a sudden and threatened to flow down the soft cheeks.

My heart gave a little tug. Cancel the damn trip to Mumbai, wipe those tears, give the child a big hug and just stay at home – it screamed.

But the mind did not relent. She is old enough and will handle your absence better than you think – advised the mind. Anyways it’s not like you have a choice. It’s an official trip not a joy ride. It chided me.

I sat there torn between wanting to give in to the child and taking a tough stance. After all, how many more years will she say that to me? Probably in another year or so if I tell her I’m going for a day – she might grin with relief. Or she might not even react, just shrug as if she couldn’t care less. Or worse, I might come back after a day and ask her if she missed me and she might say ‘oh you were not at home yesterday?’ I shudder to think how much pain that will cause. I hope such a day never comes.

For now, I’m important in her life. And I’m basking in that feeling.

I hug her and say, what if you were going on a school trip and I start crying ‘Baby don’t go! I’ll miss you.’ She paused in her whimpering. Even the flow of tears down her cheeks seemed to pause. You mean you’ll cry if I go on a school trip? She wondered incredulously. “Are you a baby?!” she chided me. No, I reasoned, but then you are not a baby either and you are not allowing me to go.

Silence. As she pondered over this for a few moments.

Ok! She relented angrily. Go if you have to. But… I’ll miss you amma. She said and those tears sprang up again. My heart went all gooey again. With an effort I diverted her and we delved back into the world of peninsulas and straits. Soon we were giggling over something and all was well again with our world.

As I prepare to leave my six year old and go away for a day, I wonder who is more affected by it. She or me? And if, as I’m sure it will, a day comes when she has to leave me and go on to build her own life, how oh Lord how will I ever handle it?

Sweet as laddoo

I hate going to parlors. Somehow it’s the most uncomfortable thing in the world for me. And just my luck the parlor closest to my home is located right opposite a mechanic shop. So just imagine… I walk out of the parlor after threading or waxing. My skin still smarting and me trying to look all cool and nonchalant – the guys in the mechanic shop stop their work and stare. Then they turn to each other pass comments and laugh raucously. Just the confidence deflator I need! My façade of confidence crumbles and I scurry past like a mouse. The whole experience is a torture for me!

However social etiquette demands that I do not wander around looking like a hairy bear. So I subject myself to this torture session at least once a month. I was there last evening. Dreading that first sting when the lady starts the threading process. At that point I want to stop and scream and slap her – like the whole thing was her fault! I wonder why I get these wicked urges?

So there was me last night sitting in the chair like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. And while I waited for the lady to attend to me – I looked around to pass time. The first thing I noticed about the lady next to me was her big belly. It lay exposed – with all its stretch marks and other sundry marks – like a lard of ugly flesh. Like it did not belong to the body – but was just placed there. With difficulty I pried my eyes away from her belly to her face. She must have been 50 something. She was getting a hair massage done. And this is what horrified me the most – she was eating a laddoo. It was one of those giant Tirupathi laddoo types. She was munching it slowly, happily. I mean how one can eat inside a parlor – completely baffles me. What with all the hair and dust floating around! Eeeeeeeeeeek. And worse, how can one do it when one’s own hair is getting massaged? Amazing.

One good thing was the woman took my mind off my own discomfort. While I closed my eyes and subject myself to torture, I could hear her talking to her attendant. She was positively rude! Talking to the girl in a gruff, man-like voice and telling her how to do her job properly. All this with pauses to munch that endless laddoo. Then suddenly her phone rang and it was incredible how she changed her tone of voice. Suddenly she was oh-so-saccharine-sweet. Even sweeter that the laddoo nestling in her palm. She literally drooled into the phone and profusely (sweeeeeeeeetly) thanked someone for thinking of her and calling etc. After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries she clicked her phone shut and then went back to snapping at that girl. Like a chameleon she could change the colours of her personality with such ease! I was amazed.

Finally my torture ended. I opened my tear filled eyes and quickly dabbed them with a tissue. (Ok I don’t know if this happens to everyone – but the threading pain causes my eyes to well up! Damn embarrassing!) I turned to look at the woman. She was still munching her laddoo! Her head was inside a bulb-like structure with steam coming out of it. I paid and quickly scurried out hoping that this machine would smoke out devil from inside her head and transform her into someone sweet – just like her laddoo.