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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Born in Uttarakhand, brought up in Delhi and currently staying in Delhi. Write as a hobby and love reading.

Submitted: February 20, 2018

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Submitted: February 20, 2018



Yesterday when I was talking on random stuffs with my husband (who I don’t know how finally decided to have one dedicated-to-my-wife-only Sunday after what feels like months to me); we started talking about my teenage days back in Delhi.

Like a different era only it feels, when I think of those days. Free from the homely responsibilities, surrounded with friends all the time, trying out new adventures at every possible opportunity and doing what our heart says us to. And thinking just like every typical teenager that “My mom never understands me”. I used to look at much modern, open minded and friendly mothers of my fellow friends and wish I too could replace my mom with one of those Cool-Aunts.

Every time she asked me to behave more like a girl and stopped me from doing things that she thought only boys are supposed to do, I felt a sense of hatred towards her. Every time she asked me to get involved in kitchen and learn cooking, I thought she wants to get rid of me ASAP. Every time she came to my school for parents-teacher meeting, I was embarrassed to introduce her to my teachers as she was uneducated.

As I grew, I realized she was right about almost everything and how wrong I was in understanding her. I realized that even though she was nervous meeting my teachers for the fact she knew she was uneducated, she was still there with me filling the presence of my dad too. I realized every time she asked me to behave more like a girl, she was just being protective as she knew what it was like to be a mother of 4 young daughters. Every time she asked me to get involved in kitchen, she was trying to prepare me to be able to survive even without her.

Now, when I am married and living in a city far away from her, I miss being around her and keep wondering, what would I not give to hear her advices again, to see her every day again and to be able to cry holding her tight when I am feeling too low to share my grief with anyone in my new home.

Miss you MOM.

Pratibha Mishra Tiwari

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