Mother

Dropping feminine care in her touch
She enters the house, drenched
in sweat, after a long day, at work
We smile seeing her back
I feel, "she is now relieved
for she is now 'Home'.

"Home!"
The place without troubles
The place which comforts
The place where you can lay off. . .
But, not for her.
Alas! She does not have a free time or an 'own time'.

Father comes, she prepares tea
We throw at her school happenings
It's evening six, her time to pray
I wonder if she wishes anything for herself any day!

Tired by age, by circumstance,
by this 'disease with no name'
She tries to have a little rest-
Alas! She does not have a free time or an 'own time'.

There is a knock on the door,
Somebody has come for a visit,
Obviously opening the door
is her responsibility.
Mundane talks, unlaughable chatter
She hands to them, a delicious platter.
As they leave she still says, "come again soon"
and turns her gaze to the clock in the living room. . .
Exhausted! Her eyes with wrinkles,
set on her sunken face,
Appear as if she arrived too soon on old age's gate.

It's supper time, her 'suffer' time
A day's work at office, and now
this SECOND SHIFT- at home
She cooks and feeds dinner to us
and sleeps without having the smallest crust.

Wakes up at eleven in the night
To call her son stationed outside
Only then, if some energy dwells
She gives herself the 'luxury' of food.

As she washes the dishes, cleans the kitchen
She realises, another day at work tomorrow
And silently, questions her education, her fate-
If things were really meant to be this way?

Family, they say- an institution of love and care
wrapped by bonds of blood and marriage. . 
There is a stir in her,
Family- she says to herself- is political-
a cage-for dominance and subjugation-
is economic- a bond- for property transfers-
Choking with these thoughts, she goes to bed
To prepare herself for another life-sucking day. . .

When asked in school tomorrow,
"What does your mother do?"
I proudly say, "My Mom's a working woman."
Grossly unaware and ignorant
of the horror, the burden,
she bears- of the two shifts she does-
One at work, the other at 'home'-
without any help, acknowledgment or reward.

And then, we say,
"Mother- an epitome of sacrifice"
O sane people,
"Do you really think this is wise?"


_Rashmirekha Pandit