My faith crumpled on the day I held hands; Yes! It is scary when one is as cold as ice and the other as warm as sand.
Yes! My hands are not as soft as yours; I've raised my daughter alone amidst layers of chaos.
Yes! My beauty faded away as I aged; I've pulled myself to fire every time I've seen her beige.
Yes! My story wasn't appreciated by all; I've seen lives scattering and so mine was better than their fall...
Yes! My life is not like the tree which stood tall; My story's about that little sapling which grew anew from cracks of walls.
A mother's love is something which no other relation in the world can even try to replicate. I would like to share my experience which leads me to pen this poem!
It was a hectic 9-5 day schedule and I was returning from the hustling life of my college to a dormant and calming house nestled somewhere deep in Mumbai's map.
Following my regular local train rituals, my hands took a small stroll in my bag to reach out to the novel which I was reading back then and my earpods while my gaze were frozen at the scene out of the train window with moving buildings and greens. Finally, I got hold of a small book inside and started reading it. To be honest, I'm not a person who intensely gets engorged in a particular activity, so my eyes kept switching between the novel and the moving world outside, can this habit become a bane for me? Maybe, but this time it was definitely a boon!
The train stopped at a small station away from the grandeur of Mumbai, where you see people love more, care more, understand more. The train halted no more than a minute and the platform was soon deserted after a huge crowd got inside the train.
Amidst the empty platform, a small kid walked with utmost courage with a school bag hung on his shoulders upon which rested his mother's arm. I found this weird until my eyes landed on his mother who walked after him with a white cane which people with deprived vision, she carried it in one hand and the other was on his son's shoulder.
I was taken aback for a while, I couldn't even think of her struggles, I just couldn't imagine. In a world full of colours and tempo, how did she raise his boy this fearless, this courageous, this strong?
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