She skipped when she should walk .She giggled where a grin would have sufficed , and she held the boy's hand tightly, as if he were the string of a kite about to fly away.
She was a mother ,small, pretty, red-lipsticked , full of mirth, and hunchbacked .
She wore bright colours . Bright blue salwaar kameez , dupatta, the colour of the deepest seas. Verdant green suits with parrot green dupattas.Talking animatedly with her son , who bore startling resemblance to her.
Deeply embarrassed, and sullen , the boy would tag along silently. Occasionally nodding his head at some remark.She would insist on carrying the boys school satchel , however heavy, and the water bottle , which would fly at each skip-step, smacking her side with rebound . Still she would smile, and skip away , gaily chatting, about the goings-on in the school , with a totally uninterested , embarrassed to the core , and reticent boy.
The boy was her life. Her raison-de-etre, the reason to breathe , live and look forward to the next day.
But her presence made the boy's life hell. Taunted and teased by bullies to no end, the boy was sick and tired of fighting the world to defend a mother who was less-than-perfect in an increasingly intolerant world.
The boy became increasingly rude to the mother. He stopped talking to her . After unceremoniously dumping his bag on her, which she cheerfully bore, he would march ahead, sometimes alone , sometimes in company of his stone -kicking , texting , and hollering friends. The mother silently followed, ten paces behind, bearing her son's burden , but never letting him out of her sight.
Years passed, and the boy sprouted a stubble and was two clear feet taller than his mother. The mother grew gray hair at the temple, her pace slackened . Now , she followed twenty paces behind. Breathless , tenacious, she would struggle to keep pace , but wouldn't give up.
Then one day, there was some trouble on the streets. At mid morning, lathi wielding goons, forced the shops to down their shutters . People who wouldn't comply were beaten up, police jeeps followed with wailing sirens. In a matter of minutes , deathly silence descended on the busy road.
The school, inexplicably, let the bells ring precisely at that time . Students spilled onto the deserted street.
The boy , with his friends , was silently walking past. For the first time , in so many years , he was lugging his bag. The mother wasn't late. The school had shut down early.
Suddenly a group of yelling goons rushed at the boys. Wielding lathis, power drunk, crazy with mob-frenzy and hell bent on clearing their path.
In a split second , a flash of parrot green had materialised from somewhere and positioned itself between the mob and the school boys . It was the mother , who had heard of the school closure and had rushed from home.
The boys dropped their bags and ran screaming for cover. The green figure crumpled under the combined assault of so many lathis .
A police van screeched up, rained some lathis on the miscreants and drove off with the green bundle , even before the boys could catch their breath.
The word spread, and all the shopkeepers in the street went to visit the mother in the civil hospital. They prayed for her at the peer baba dargah and offered a 'chadar' in her name . The son , contrite and confused , stared at her still form lying folded up, in the ICU, scarcely breathing.
The school reopened two weeks later.
The boy carried his satchel and his bottle himself. He also had to walk slowly, keeping in step with his mother , who insisted on escorting him, her right arm and leg still in plaster cast.,clad in brilliant purple.
She was a mother ,small, pretty, red-lipsticked , full of mirth, and hunchbacked .
She wore bright colours . Bright blue salwaar kameez , dupatta, the colour of the deepest seas. Verdant green suits with parrot green dupattas.Talking animatedly with her son , who bore startling resemblance to her.
Deeply embarrassed, and sullen , the boy would tag along silently. Occasionally nodding his head at some remark.She would insist on carrying the boys school satchel , however heavy, and the water bottle , which would fly at each skip-step, smacking her side with rebound . Still she would smile, and skip away , gaily chatting, about the goings-on in the school , with a totally uninterested , embarrassed to the core , and reticent boy.
The boy was her life. Her raison-de-etre, the reason to breathe , live and look forward to the next day.
But her presence made the boy's life hell. Taunted and teased by bullies to no end, the boy was sick and tired of fighting the world to defend a mother who was less-than-perfect in an increasingly intolerant world.
The boy became increasingly rude to the mother. He stopped talking to her . After unceremoniously dumping his bag on her, which she cheerfully bore, he would march ahead, sometimes alone , sometimes in company of his stone -kicking , texting , and hollering friends. The mother silently followed, ten paces behind, bearing her son's burden , but never letting him out of her sight.
Years passed, and the boy sprouted a stubble and was two clear feet taller than his mother. The mother grew gray hair at the temple, her pace slackened . Now , she followed twenty paces behind. Breathless , tenacious, she would struggle to keep pace , but wouldn't give up.
Then one day, there was some trouble on the streets. At mid morning, lathi wielding goons, forced the shops to down their shutters . People who wouldn't comply were beaten up, police jeeps followed with wailing sirens. In a matter of minutes , deathly silence descended on the busy road.
The school, inexplicably, let the bells ring precisely at that time . Students spilled onto the deserted street.
The boy , with his friends , was silently walking past. For the first time , in so many years , he was lugging his bag. The mother wasn't late. The school had shut down early.
Suddenly a group of yelling goons rushed at the boys. Wielding lathis, power drunk, crazy with mob-frenzy and hell bent on clearing their path.
In a split second , a flash of parrot green had materialised from somewhere and positioned itself between the mob and the school boys . It was the mother , who had heard of the school closure and had rushed from home.
The boys dropped their bags and ran screaming for cover. The green figure crumpled under the combined assault of so many lathis .
A police van screeched up, rained some lathis on the miscreants and drove off with the green bundle , even before the boys could catch their breath.
The word spread, and all the shopkeepers in the street went to visit the mother in the civil hospital. They prayed for her at the peer baba dargah and offered a 'chadar' in her name . The son , contrite and confused , stared at her still form lying folded up, in the ICU, scarcely breathing.
The school reopened two weeks later.
The boy carried his satchel and his bottle himself. He also had to walk slowly, keeping in step with his mother , who insisted on escorting him, her right arm and leg still in plaster cast.,clad in brilliant purple.
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