Mother Is Mine

~ 2 September, 1997; 1:00 A.M. ~


And at last, I can see the light. After struggling inside her womb for so long, I’m able to breathe the air now. I can stretch my legs as far as I want. I can move my hands in the air. I’m no more tied. I am no more a foetus, I am a boy now. I look at the one who has carried me for the past nine months, a lady who asks me to call her, ‘m-u-m-m-a’. She kisses on my forehead and I hug her back, keeping my chin on her strong shoulders. She keeps on humming till I fall asleep. She understands me even when I can’t speak. She knows when to quench my thirst and when to tranquilize the growling hungry monsters living inside my tiny stomach. She sings me a melodious lullaby and pacifies me every time I cry. I love her. I love my ‘m-u-m-m-a’. As I stumble and I learn to walk, as I speak and try to grasp things, as I learn to be more like her, I realise, that there’s another man in our life who’s more closer to her than me. A man who can speak fluently, who’s tall, who can eat on his own. A man who’s better than me in every aspect. I have to call him, ‘p-a-a-p-a’. I hate it when he enters our room while I am asleep with mother. He goes out with mom quite often, leaving me behind with two old people. I don’t like sharing space with him. My blood boils every time I watch them close together. She’s my mother. Only mine.


~ 27 September, 2015; 4:00 P.M. ~


I’m no more a boy, I am a man. I love my mother even now. I love her dusky delicate skin that she wraps with a saree. My senses fall apart every time I smell her breath. I love it when her lips rest on my cheeks and every time she holds me with her eyes where I see an entire ocean of love for me. I still can’t bear the presence of any other man in my mother’s life. Only, I can touch her skin, only my lips can kiss her soul, only I can caress her forehead, only my fingers can interlock with hers, only I can play with her hair. We’re meant to be together. We’re meant to be one.

I can’t see any other man kissing on her cosy cheeks or pacify her when she’s stressed. I saw him today hugging my mother yet again, as she left for her office tour. I give her a goodbye kiss and feel the warmth of her skin. I try to capture her in the camera of my soul, to feed my heart for the next ten days.


~ 28 September, 2015; 8:00 A.M.~


I walk to his room to see if he’s doing well. I see him sleeping as he embraces the photo frame that has my mother’s image from her early twenties. I take the photo frame and keep it at the shelf. My mother looks bedazzling. I smile when I see her innocent smile and pacifying eyes. I walk to the side where my mother sleeps. I take the pillow and hug it as I smell my mother’s fragrance. It titillates my senses. Why can’t father smell that too? Can he? Shall I wake him up? No, I’ll let him sleep. Forever. I keep the pillow over his face till he no more struggles to get that pillow away. He’s no more. Mom will be mine, all mine. Good bye p-a-a-p-a.


~ 17 October, 2015; 9:30 A.M. ~


I’m behind the bars today reading a newspaper featuring my story. I look at it and throw it away. I wonder why they call my love for my mother as Oedipus complex.


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