MY ENDLESS LOVE FOR YOU.

CHAPTER-36

"Nostalgia (noun) The unsettling sensation that you are never able to fully access the past; that once you are departed from an event, some essential quality of it is lost forever. 

PRITHVI

"What is my identity, ma?"

I was on the floor with my homework and grumbling at the frequent shot of pain in my back. The school was far away and I had to walk for almost an hour with my loaded backpack. I didn't mind because Ma would go through double my journey to reach her workplace. I tried to be discrete by shifting my position and completing my homework quickly.

It was half past eight and I observed Ma pushing one of the chairs against the door after bolting it. At night in our chawl, drunkards create lots of noise or are involved in brawls. I hated nights here. They'd remind me how alone we both were. Two times some men barged into our home, mumbling incoherently and looking at Ma in the wrong ways. I didn't understand their intention but the fear on her face coiled my insides. She'd take a protective stance in front of me and yell at them to get out.

It was only when people gathered around they'd leave mockingly chuckling at her. I didn't like to let her deal with everything on her own but I didn't understand how to protect her too. We were a team just like she'd remind me many times. She asserted that we face everything together. I never knew she was lying for years.

She faced everything by herself. Insults, Danger, struggles, and in the end death too.

"Why the sudden question?" she'd ask to distract me from her jittery movements.

Once satisfied with her arrangements, she spread one of our bed sheets on the floor and grabbed the old iron. She wouldn't bother with her clothes to look presentable but my clothes were clean and ironed every day. I attempted to iron her clothes once she slept. Though somehow she'd caught me and tucked me back in her arms.

Her excuse was that the electricity bill will be too high and she didn't mind a few wrinkles on her clothes.

I pouted, remembering the pitiful and disgusted looks of everyone in my class. "My teacher said during one of the lessons on building a family tree that a father gives identity to their children. I don't have one so does it mean I don't have any identity? My family tree would always remain incomplete?"

She halted her task of ironing my clothes. I pretended to not see her eyes-similar to mine-brim with tears before she blinked them away. If I didn't then I'd cry with her. Then she'd blame herself to make me feel sad. It was not her fault that the man who was supposed to be my father never lived with us. I sometimes wondered if he cared if we were alive or not.

Ma plucked me from the floor into her lap. I laid my head on her shoulder, playing with the free strands of her messy braid. I sighed in relief once she gently massaged my aching back. I can never hide my pain from her. She'd always magically caught me every time.

"Hamare paas sab kuch to nahi ho sakta na," She picked up the eraser and rubbed the title with father in my family tree chart. "Aur waise bhi tumhari pehchan tumhara pita nahi mai hoon. Tumhari har adat mein main hoon. Jaise faisalein karoge, jaise baatein karoge, jaise khusa karoge, jaise badmashiyan karoge- sab mein meri parvarish jalkegi. Mai bas nahi hoon?" she faked a sad expression.

{We can't have everything in life, right? Anyways, your identity is not your father's. It's me. All of your habits reflect my upbringing. The way you'd take your decisions, the way you'd reply, the way you'd give in your anger, or your naughty acts- everything will be my reflection on you. Am I not enough for you?}