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There is the love of mother that needs no senses to feel its expression.
And, that’s where I begin my journey of this life with you.
In that vintage picture, I think of how you became a woman coming of age.
Wounds of the uprooting I haven’t seen yet, or any trepidations you store.
Even in the testiest times, there was a decorum that played out at home,
proving that the mind is a sanctuary of our well-being and existence.
Being unassuming, shocking everyone with that touch of brilliance you possess,
turning your love into lessons of courage and gratitude.
Those private laughs we had, belying our mutual unsettling worries,
you amazed me with the depths of your knowledge of life.
There is that unreasonable kindness I have learnt by being around you,
teaching me that we all have in us to love others not part of the family.
You are the only sustaining force of my upbringing,
the smell of food and those festival sweets notwithstanding.
Turning everyone into saints in your path with your authoritative empathy,
And arresting thousands with your charm and thoughtfulness.
Brutally defending our peace of mind for your torments,
Outpacing yourself while stitching sacrifices and time into the tapestry of life.
Your high standards for everyone but me, your tenderness towards my struggles,
making sure to realize that I am special and worthy of being loved.
It is a tall order to preserve the tradition of motherhood handed down to me.
Never to settle with the life that we are capable of creating for ourselves.
And over a few tea rings of my cup of life,
I will laugh out heartily if I hear that someone else had the best mother of the world.
I love you and I will always live in awe of you.