I stand before her, the serene face of a lady looks back at me. And memories come to me in flashbacks. My chilhood. It was different. Different from the rest. I am a little girl of six. The angel of my life is there with me. From washing my face in the morning to brushing my teeth at night. My friends would ask, "who made these pretty pigtails in your hair?","it is my mother, i love her!" From school homework to projects; from fancy dress competitions to sports day. "such a lovely creative project! You made this?","oh no no! It is my mother, she is an artist. She helps me in all my work, i love her!" Every year, at the parents teacher meeting, mothers and fathers of all my friends met the teachers and each other. "where is your mother?","oh she is unwell today.... " And so my friends, so much in awe of my mother only saw her in the pictures i showed to them. "one day i will come to your place with my mother."
But the angel of my life was there with me. Every little thing that mattered, every tear i shed, was wiped; every curve of my lips would be turned into a smile. All my joys, my earth shattering sorrows, would i share with the angel. A ride on the bike, races in the garden, sweets after getting those dreadfull needles, lifting me up in the air, reading me stories, singing me songs, telling me tales of monkeys and crows, of fairies and goblins. All this and more did the angel of my life. Untiring, unconditionally, day after day, night after night. Often do i remember when i was a little girl, back in school when each one of my friends brought lunch boxes with sumptuous food. Parathas, achar, potatoe fries and what not. "where is your lunch?","oh!", i would say, "i prefer eating from the canteen. My mother, she was so busy carrying out the tasks at home." And when i reached home, my angel was ready to take me out to eat.
Today, when i am at the end of my teenage years, standing with my face towards the sun, i close my eyes. The beam penetrates my soul. I ask myself,"was i ashamed then?" But why? When i should have been so proud.
I open my eyes and my reflection stares back at me through the glass on the portrait. I see the serene face of a beautiful lady. The incense sticks producing whirls of smoke taking shapes of the twists and turns of my life
The garland of flowers hung around this picture, i never let wither. And her face merges with the reflection of mine as tears blur my vision. It is my mother,as people tell me. I never knew her yet i love her! A hand on my head,a soothing touch, my tears wiped away again, as he has always done from my chilhood uptill now. And i know that it is my angel, my father.