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Amma, I wish you could have loved me a little less. Maybe then, you would've loved my mother more and I wouldn't be happy the day you died!
Amma, I wish you could have loved me a little less. Maybe then, you would’ve loved my mother more and I wouldn’t be happy the day you died!
The day my Amma died I was the happiest girl alive.
Amma, Who used to Make halwa for me Midnight, no questions asked.
Amma, Who used to Take me on little Adventurous afternoon sprees Of old narrow lanes, And housemaid’s tales.
Amma, Who used to Defend me when Anyone used to scold me.
Amma, Who used to pamper me Like nobody else could or would.
But also, The same Amma, Used to make my mom cry. For hours, Days, Years. Snickering, Taunting, Tormenting she ruled. Ruled over the house.
Amma, Who shopped for everyone, But my mom.
Amma, Who used to give the best mangoes To everyone else, While giving my mom The discarded half-rotten one.
Amma, Who used to humiliate My mom’s mother, Father, Brother and sister. Every time she got a chance.
Amma, Who never gave One warm remark To my mom All her life. Till her death bed. Where she died of a terrible disease. While my mom cried and served her. Till the end. Till the end.
Amma, Who loved me, All her life.
The day she died, I felt so light. She lay cold as a stone. I saw her face and rushed To the veranda. And laughed And laughed And laughed.
For finally, My mom was free. Released as Amma’s Soul left her body.
Amma, I could have lived Without unnecessary pampering. But oh I couldn’t live, With what you did. I cannot live with all you did.
The examples you set. The pain in my Mum’s eyes ricochet.
Amma, I wish you could Have loved me a little less. Saved my share of love And watered the kindness In your heart.
Maybe, Just maybe then I’d have had lived a healthier life. Free of insecurities And hatred.
Amma, I loved you too. But the day you died, I was the happiest girl alive.
A message to Amma from the little confused girl and the lady she is now.
Picture credits: Still from Bollywood movie Badhaai Ho!
Always up for hitting the roads, Swarnima finds meaning of life in travelling. A foodie at heart, she loves to dig deep into movies that are unconventional. She has much appreciation for solitude. Believer by read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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