How I made Maa pay the price of my freedom

“Do you think you’ll be able to survive a day without her?” mocked my grandma when she learnt I was planning to move out of Guwahati to take on the challenges of life and make it big. The question was a legitimate one, for I had never lived without Maa. But there I was, standing behind the grills of the hostel; eyes welled up, while Maa looked on, with a dysphoric countenance. In that one impassive moment, I saw my world busticating.

On the first day of college, my HoD assured Maa that in a few months from then I’d get so caught up with ‘Life in Bhopal’, most appropriately ‘Life of adjusting to bad hostel food and conniving people around’ that I’d hardly get a time to miss her or speak with her. He was true, albeit partially. It has been 9 years since and there hasn’t been a day when I haven't spoken to her once, twice, to occasions when I could not even keep a count.

I have graduated from the University of Life and made it so far with much élan. ‘A room on the roof’, few moments of silence when I reach home from work, a cosy corner for sequestering with a book and a space of my own, away from the din is what I pined for always. Malgré not being destiny’s favourite child, I have lived up to most of them. However, with age, I've realized that every freedom comes at a cost. In this avaricious race of independence, I have left Maa far behind.

It is perhaps the price of this sense of liberation that while I was building a career of which she could boast, I ignored her when she needed me the most. I am not there to coerce her to visit a doctor every time she falls sick, or prepare her lemonade when she retires to bed after a day's hard labour like I did as a kid. I am not there to compliment every time she decks up and preens in front of the mirror or teach her to operate a smartphone when she makes an error. It pains me to realize I am not around to share her pain because I am busy chasing things that are hollow and mundane. I am not there to surprise her with a dinner date or take her out for a movie which stars the actor that's her favourite. I am not around to lend a helping hand when the house help has decided to give work a miss, nor am I there when she's fought with bro and needs to be cheered up with a kiss. I am not around to fold her sari into neat pleat or aimlessly lie on her chest feeling her heartbeat. I am not there to wake her up on her birthday with a sumptuous breakfast and bed-tea or keep her out of the kitchen every Sunday and tell her, "Today you are off duty'. Every time she leaves my place, I feel her sweet smell dangling in the thin air and I realize the choices I made in life were unfair. There is so much I want to do for her every time we meet, but all we end up doing is part with memories bittersweet.

I was a fool to search for this Elysium everywhere, not realizing it can only be found in Maa's affection and care. Sometimes, I feel I've traded too much for success, fame and glory and wish I could rewrite this story. For 2200kms away, all I can do every Mother's Day is miss my BAE.