Those were the golden days
When my mother, fondly plaited my hair
Standing behind me, while the appetizing aroma of puri and chhole
Wafted in the fresh morning air.
She would rush out of the kitchen holding a steel lunch box,
tucking it in my satchel , she headed towards the dressing table
Where I waited for her to braid my plaits, two smooth and immaculate,
Which didn’t suite my taste yet had to abide by a schoolgirl’s trait.
Smoothening my hair, she would religiously advice with a distinctive flair
Of how crucial was teenage when one should prepare to sit for GATE
Keeping at bay, all insane thoughts of fashion and mate.
And when I fidgeted, with the slightest prod of the comb would warn me of getting late.
I would absorb the morning sun that smiled through the curtains ,
Exuding the perfect amount of warmth and freshness,
and occasionally the mirror would reflect her anxiety behind her calmness,
As she braided blessings to ward off evil eyes.
Those were the nights when she oiled my hair
Massaging in the wisdom of life that she wanted me to take care.
Combing away my fears, she enunciated the importance of nourishing the roots,
Be it of the wavy mass on the head or a noble adulthood.
I would initially rebel at being made to sit still,
Then feeling love radiate from of her gentle fingers to my scalp ,
I would give in, secretly enjoying the massage,
A pain, imagining a world without her one day, would then implode my heart.
Note: Puri – an Indian bread made by deep frying
Chhole – an Indian spicy dish made by chick peas.
GATE _ General Aptitude Test in Engineering.
