In The Eyes of Mother

Saturday night, 21:20hrs

I opened the front door to receive 2 bags of groceries from my mother, groceries I didn’t ask for, they contained cabbages, carrots, tomatoes and spinach cans.            

“I stocked the fridge just yesterday” I said, following her to the living room. She didn’t respond, This has always been this way with my mother -ever since childhood- knocking on my door at wrong time for all the wrong reasons.

I dumped the bags in the kitchen and ran back to find her cleaning up my dirty laundry from the couch.

“Would you leave that alone, the cleaning lady comes tomorrow, she can handle it”

“Some cleaning lady she is, waste of money”

 I never understood how my father put up with my mother, of how they managed to live under the same roof for as long as they did. Sometimes I wonder if they did it for me but I try not to dwell long with that thought. My parents never fought, they rarely ever spoke to each other. When neighbors were asked to describe my house they usually used one word: Quiet. I guess there was no love in that house but obligations and authority. I got of there when I could.

“How is dad?” I asked her, It is a shame that I had to make small talk with my own mother.

“Tending the gardens day in and out” she gave a little snort, the one she always used to express disgust and disinterest

 There was a knock on the door and I knew who it would be. I did not plan my night with the consideration that my mom would show up. Before I could make a move my mom was at the door, she can be real fast when she needed to be.

The door creaked open to reveal the enticing figure of Shreya, she has one hand against the stairs railing

“Friend of Prakul?” my mom asked eyeing Shreya.

I know my mom would never approve of Shreya. Being born in the 70s, she never got her head around high heels and thigh length one pieces, her idea of a perfect girl involved bhindi, saree and a bowed head. To ask that of Shreya would be to ask peace from terrorists.

Shreya walked in, past my mom without answering her question, I can tell what was going in her head “What is the cleaning lady doing at this hour?” and so before she opened her mouth, I said “Shreya, meet my mom. Mom, shreya”

I took my seat next to my mom while Shreya sat opposite us, her legs crossed revealing more of her inner thigh. My mother glared at me as if I was responsible for her act, I guess I kind of was in a way.

“Do you always go around dressing like that” mom asked

“Not always” Shreya winked at me “Only when I come to meet Prakul”

The tension in the room grew electric enough to power a small city and I was being electrocuted by it. My mom got up grabbed a bed sheet and covered it over Shreya and walked her out the house.

I couldn’t help but feel 14 again, in my bedroom, when my mom barges in to turn off my computer.

“You got to stop doing this!” she said looking at me and banged the door shut behind her.

Certain things never change.