My life was a frazzled rose
A shattered rose
The sunlight of your existence made it fresh
But nothing has been permanent
The sun has been set
The rose has been dead
Everything's been unpredictable.
What's next?
A frazzled rose or a free cage?
दो नैन सतारे, है चाँद सा मुखड़ा ⭐🌕 क्या कहना उसका आफ़रीं 🥹✨ दावत में जैसे, हो शाही टुकड़ा 🍪💘 उसके जैसी ना कोई नाज़नीं 🧿💗
✨✨✨
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'Mummaaaaaa!'
I whined like a child, and fell on the bed behind me. Her daughter is all grown up, married too, but she doesn't leave a chance reprimanding me.
Of course, moms are moms. You can't argue with them.
'What mumma? You are a married woman now, and still behaving like a kid.', I pulled out faces hearing her scolding words.
'It was your first day at your sasural. You should have worn a saree. Sab satyanash kar diya is ladki ne.', mumma continued.
(This girl spoilt everything.)
'Mumma you know my past with saree, don't you?! And no one had any problem with what I was wearing. Even you shouldn't have any.', I defended myself.
'Beta muh pe na koi nahi bolta fir peeth peeche ja ke sab burai karte hai.', why do I hear a typical Indian aunty in mumma.
(Child, no one says this in front of you, but then talk behind your back.)
'Beta jab tak tu yaha thi, tab tak koi nahi dikkat nahi thi, koi rok nahi, ab tu sasural mein hai, thoda toh dhyan rakhna chahiye na.', my face fell hearing her.
(Child, till the time you were there, no one had any problem with you wearing anything, there were no restrictions, but now you are at your in-law's, you should be a little careful, right?)
I called her up to inform that how proud her daughter made her today, but the reply turned out to be something I didn't expect.
I didn't reply, but sat with a grumpy, sad face.
'It's ok mumma. Not that big deal. My poor sister called you up to tell that she made rasmalai and everyone loved it, she expected to hear praises and here you are busy scolding her, not done!', my eyes twinkled when I heard Krishna bhaiyya at the back.
'See mumma, only bhaiyya loves me.', mumma needs to pull up her socks, because now her daughter is angry.
'Are I am not scolding, being your mother, this is my job to tell you right and wrong. Ma hu na isliye sun leti hun, duniye nahi jhelne wali itne nakhre.', I giggled silently seeing her use her brahmastra, her melodrama.
(I am your mother that's why I listen everything you say, the world is not going tolerate all these tantrums.)
'Well mumma, I will be coming home tomorrow right?', I asked with a big grin on my lips. 'Yeah. Your brothers will come to fetch you.'
