We are the masks we wear

The egg and its chicken

"Sweetie, hot water, please..", called out my ailing mother from her bed; as I was getting ready to leave for work.

Her illness is psychosomatic. She is weak, disturbed, depressed, with frequent chills for 4 weeks, since my father died of a liver failure. His love towards intoxication was more than his love towards family.

I am guilty about feeling relieved about his death. However, our life, after his passing, is no better.

I served my mom hot water and breakfast in hurry. I put things in my bag; a small hand mirror with a broken lid, a lip balm, an almost empty lipstick, a snow pad and couple of coins for the bus ride.

7:46 - The clock read. I have 10 minutes to reach the bus stop, which is half a kilometre away.

As I rushed to the door, I shot few rapid instructions to my mother.

"Mom. Please take the medicines after breakfast. DO NOT dabble in the kitchen while I am away. Lunch is beside the stove. Heat it before having it. I will call you at lunch. Bye."

My mom shot back few for me.

"Darling, my medicines. In the evening. Please."

I said, "ok, mom. Bye."

"And groceries"

"OK. MOM. I am late."

"Please smile at me. Show this old rag some love."

I smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek. Not that I don't love her. I am just barren of expressions. It is blasphemous to pretend to love. However, I wish I could trade some of that love to buy medicines or groceries.

I said those magical words and her face lit up with a smile; like it does everyday.

"You know I love you."

I was thinking about the walk to the bus stop when I said that.

A MASK.