Dear Mother

Moye moye (मोए मोए),

It’s the first time i am writing for you. Never have I ever got the chance or thought to write upon you. I still don’t want to but since, the decade is ending I want to confess a few things.

I haven’t been a good son. I know. And my behaviour since last 2,3 years isn’t justifiable. I want you to know that I feel bad in those nights when I have misbehaved with you, shout at you, raised my voice. Many times, I lose the control on my tongue and temperament while teaching you something about mobile applications and online money transfer without even realising that all those words coming out of my mouth were taught by you. And yet, you love me unconditionally (mother after all). I face problem to sleep and repent for one or two hours before I could sleep. My sporadic behaviour and mood causes you trouble so many times and I notice it all the time. If I were you, I’d beat the crap outta me.
Thank you for your loudest cheer even for my silliest achievement. Thank you for supporting me in my ongoing struggle since 2018.
You know what, moye moye? I am not getting any thoughts, ideas or words to write upon you. I mean, it’s like TIME; it exists, it runs everything but you can’t write an essay on time for 100 words. Sorry not sorry for a bizarre comparing unit but you are my every moment. Now, how can I write upon my every moment? All I can say is I am grateful to you. I AM because of YOU.

Thank you for being a mediator between me and father. Thank you for every time you skipped your daily soaps so that I could study in quite. Thank you for waking up all those nights in hospital for me. There are a few complaints as well but who the hell am I to put it up to a mother?!
Now, I see a difference in me. My ‘yash’centric plans and dreams are shifting to ‘moye-moye’centric.

Out of the top 5 most embarrassing moments with my moye, I want to share the second one with you all. I will keep it short.
I had a lockable diary once. Obviously, to write down my emotional shits. So, following the ritual one night, I wrote it, locked it and went to sleep. It wouldn’t have been more than 30-40 mins when she woke me calling my name from her room. I went to her room with squinting eyes filled with sleep. Shit had gotten real. She, standing near her bed-post looking at me with disgust with the diary in her hand OPENED.
“क्या लिख रखा है ये तुमनें?” (“What have you written?”)
When words hurt more than the action. I was really wishing that she quit saying me those embarrassing things and rather just beat me. Let the sticks and stones just break my bones but stop scolding me like that. And that wasn’t my lucky night. From distant away I heard a sound; a familiar sound. That fainting sound was getting louder and clear. But it was pretty early than usual. Father came home early that night and I knew the sound of the silencer of his bike.
Double team attack awaits!
Skipping the scolding ceremony and their dialogues and fast forwarding to the next day…
I couldn’t make an eye contact with either of them for more than a week.
So, what was in the diary, yash? 🤔🧐
‘A love letter for a girl’. 😉
But Yash, that’s not wrong to write a love letter to a girl, right? 🤔
‘IT IS wrong to write a love letter to a girl when you are in 5th standard and you write it for your classmate’. 😐

Lesson learnt:
After locking a diary, don’t throw the key on the bed just like that. Keep it with yourself.
And the funny thing was that before going to sleep, I said साॅरी पापा, साॅरी मम्मी आज के बाद से नहीं लिखुँगा (sorry mom, sorry day i won’t write from now onwards)😂

Fun fact, moye moye doesn’t know that i have this blog and write stuffs in it. Now try to find out this one, moye moye😎.

But, she knows that i write well. It’s inherited in me from “hers side of family line”. So, basically my writing voyage has begun from 5th standard.

Ok, ending this up on an embarrassing note. Embarrassing, because I have never said this to you nor I will ever say.
I love you.

P.S. Moye Moye, now be a sport and unlike other typical Indian mothers, I hope you do not force me to get married from next year. You have raised a highly talented kid(self promotion).

Highly talented kid’s click