It’s your birthday tomorrow. You were born decades ago, humiliated by fate from left to right. I don’t know much about your childhood, but as far as I know, it was not so great. I sit in my room and blame the universe for my life, but when I think about yours, I feel how insignificant my problems are.
I remember you as my shield, my strength, my comfort, my home. You’ve suffered a lot of things for me. I used to think that somehow I would repay it when I got older. But the truth is that I can’t do it. I can’t repay you for the things you’ve done for me. Not only did you make sure that I survived, you also made sure that I grew up to be a better person.
You dreamt your dreams on my behalf. You were abided with love and yet betrayed by it at the same time. Your life has never been easy. Your mother killed herself when you were just a child. You were married off at an early age and your husband turned out to be a mess. And I, your son, isn’t any better either. I don’t listen to you, but it is only because I am anxious about the consequences. It might change in a couple of years, but that doesn’t work for you.
Even after all this pain, you are still a warrior. It takes a lot of courage to raise children. You’ve played many roles to many people, but to me, you will always be my mother. The one who brought me into this world and raised me. Who protected and fought for me. It is that love that makes me fight for you. Who could be more proud of you than your son? But I wished a simpler life for you. Maybe watching the sunrise as you grow older. But I am not making it possible for you. I have failed you in life. And the thing is, you cannot comprehend why I have failed you. And that is hurtful sometimes. Perhaps I’m like a knife to you. I don’t mean to cut, but I do. And still, you cling to me, care for me, keep coming to me even when your heart bleeds.
Weirdly enough, you’ll never read this. But I still love you more than I have loved any other. Happy Birthday, Maa.
