Every time I leave Kolkata, my mother’s expression reminds me of this Agamoni song: “Ebar amar Uma ele/ Ar Uma pathabo naa” (This time when Uma comes/ I am never sending her back again) !!
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I am in love because I chose to gently lower my guard and be beautifully vulnerable with this wonderful man with whom every moment shared is worth my while. I have no regrets whatsoever.
How much do parents know about their children before they hive off the child towards tuition?
Is Mother’s Day still happy for her? Will those articles and stories on the greatness of mothers make her proud of herself? Will she be able to accept herself wholeheartedly for taking this decision? Will she not doubt her own intentions and abilities as a mother?
All women I knew had domestic help, but none of that for me. And I didn’t speak up, because I was raised to believe that good wives don’t complain, don’t rebel, don’t disobey. Tell me, have I ever nurtured such thoughts in you?
My heart broke into pieces. I stood there for a while, silently, guilt-tripping. I wished I could go back to that moment and stop this from happening. I wished I could protect my little one from being in so much pain. I wished I could be more available for him.
All the mothers who are celebrated by their kids are villains in someone’s story, it’s just that you aren’t reading that narration where she isn’t the protagonist.
I thought for a few minutes before I could muster up the courage to speak my mind.
We rushed him to Chennai. We were told there that this is a condition where blood breaks down real fast. This in turn causes anaemia. So, to compensate for that my boy shall need a blood transfusion. Throughout his life.
