The 5th blank in a crisp page of the brand new slam book of my pal awaited my answer to the question-My role model-___________or one can interpret it as My inspiration(as many other slam books had this among their list of selected questions. Glitter pen(you generally use colorful glitter pens to write on something as beautiful as a slam book), pivoted from my two fingers, doing their dancing moves to and fro as I set my eyes on the playground through the window, thinking deep-Who inspires me the most??During those days classmates would write names like Kalpana Chawla(this is in case of girls),Abdul Kalam and the die-hard cricket lovers(mostly the boys)would jot down the name of Tendulkar in bold or some other player, in whom I was never interested. Gosh!! The experience of filling in slam books used to be a grueling one altogether as we used to wreck out our brains to write the most interesting and eye catchy answers, interspersed with smileys here and there, and if possible a heart or two. I don’t exactly remember what answer I wrote but yes, I know now, I didn’t write the most appropriate answer.
She calls for me from the other room with the bottle of hair oil in her hands. I reluctantly obey,not before she herself comes to me and starts massaging my head. She herself might be having a headache after the great ordeal of the day, but she makes sure my scalp gets the proper care. Night time and she prepares to sleep, but every half an hour hence, she keeps reminding me that I got school the next day and I ought to sleep soon. Morning time and as I am still tucked up in my bed enjoying the cosy comfort of the soft blanket, I find her calling out to me to wake up. No response from my side and she shakes my out of my slumber just in time to have a quick bath and grab my break fast(she usually asks me the previous day what I would like to have the next morning) and reach the bus stand. And sometimes when I leave my homework copy back there on my table, she sends someone running to me with the copy, while I stand there gossiping about the latest events at school with my friends. Tiffin, water bottle and hanky, neatly in their places; checked test papers duly signed, uniform as shiny as ever(surf excel hai na;)) and the pony tail kept in place by the green rubber-band-I set to school. Back home, she arrives later than me but makes sure I have my lunch and gives me a call. I sleep, only to find her close by my side on the bed saying-“Get up, It’s evening”. Next moment, she’s up again, listening to my constant blabbering about friends, teachers, who-got-scolding-today-at-school and what not(I now wonder how she could bear all this!). And I occasionally, I used to do my bit of sulking about a silly thing and she would prop up my mood again.
After all this, why I still had to think on seeing the question in the slam book, I don’I understand. She is my constant inspiration. I possess half the energy and wit that she possesses. Mum, why did I search for a source of inspiration when you were always there for me? You-as a mother, a friend, a critic, an analyst, as any person, when need be…You ARE the answer J..In fact, every 5th blank of that slam book should have been filled by the one obvious answer-mum(although no one wrote it).Thanks to manifestation of SNSs in the present era, the tradition of filling in slam books is fast growing obsolete now-a-days... one always has the fb to express one's likes and dislikes!! Anyway, MUMS, u ROCK!!
no,no..correction.................................INDIAN MAs, u ROCK!!
no,no..correction.................................INDIAN MAs, u ROCK!!
