LIKE MOTHER (NOT) LIKE DAUGHTER

\

 My Amma always tells me that no matter how I behave right now and no matter how inexperienced I am when it comes to my cooking skills, I would grow up to be just like her. She has this ‘uniformly used in all argument’ sentence which she showers upon me whenever I argue with her. It goes something like, “When you become a mother and reach my age, you will know”. That dialogue always gives me a tiny prick. I end up spending my night thinking ‘Am I really like my mother?’. I have finally consoled myself with a few reasons as to why I am not like her and why I can never be. If you are jobless and have nothing to do in the world (I would suggest you to count stars than going further) then read on.

Top 5 Reasons as to why I am not like my mother-

1)      Culinary Art- My mother is an excellent cook. Our neighbor Mrs Kukreja used to bring home illogical and sometimes absurd edibles like curd in a huge bowl. She knows that my mother has this strange practice of never returning the plates empty. If I was her, I would return it with some water.

                But when it comes to me, ahem!! I am a great cook when it comes to just making Maggi. My cooking generally ends up producing non-edible substances and products beyond human consumption like BUTTERMILK TEA. You get it when you pour buttermilk instead of milk while making tea because you are too ignorant and stupid to know the difference between milk and buttermilk and continue making it like a nincompoop even when horrible smell continues to fill the kitchen.

2)      Looks- Obviously there is just one you and you look like just you. I do not accept the myth that there are 7 people in this world who look exactly like me. But they say you inherit certain features from your parents. I look nothing like my mother. My mother is this beautiful woman who is fairer than any of those pale anorexic chicks shown on those skin whitening cream advertisements.  She has curly hair and a thunderbolt smile and big hazel eyes. She is an epitome of how a Keralite woman should look like. I look like a hybrid mix of India. The pathetic side flicks, the watermelon face, the non existent nose and the Olive color eyes. Some say I look like a Bengali, some Mumbaite and some even say I resemble a Mongolian. A few good souls tell me that  do look like a Malayali.  I am a reasonably fair girl but I look like a charcoal covered egg when I stand beside my mother. They don’t even accept the fact that she is my mother :(

3)      Character- My mother is a certified Dirt Buster. Pest control authorities would happily give her the post of Manager if she applies. Where there is a tiny dirt spot, or mud or even bacteria which are invisible to the naked eyes but never hers, there you will find her with a mop and a bucket, muttering under her breath to those dirt particles while granting them capital punishment. When it comes to me, I thank my hostel maid for keeping my room non toxic. I have roommates to help me continue with my habits. This roomie of mine had a dead fish in her fish pot for like two months. The other roommate has a junkyard war happening on her study table.

4)      Health Conscious- She wakes up at 6 am and does an hour of Yoga (some shit called the Art of Living propounded by that droopy man called Sri Sri Ravishankar). The yoga is then followed by half an hour of speed walking. She has spent 21 yrs of her life trying to teach me how exercise keeps you fit and fine. I have learnt that fact but I am yet to make use of it. I generally push the mute button inside my head when she gives her yet another dose of ‘importance of exercising’ which usually ends up with the same line ‘Health is wealth’. Procrastination keeps circling my head. I am the one who waits for Shavasan in the yoga class and ends up sleeping till woken up by those OM chants during the end of the OH SO REFRESHING session.

5)      Traditional Approach- Temple every Saturday, early morning bath, praying before starting the vehicle, taking the gods name atleast once in ten minutes, that’s her. When it comes to me I think the Lord might have forgotten that I was his creation had it not been my mother and father taking my name in all their prayers. I am a strange person and totally whacked out sometimes. You tell me a creepy story and you can see me holding to a cross (bought from Jerusalem by someone who knows me too well) and saying Rama Rama. I look for double protection you see. If Jesus isn’t free, Lord Rama would be.

My mother is everything I should be, but sadly I can never be. She has been a perfect daughter, a perfect sister, a perfect wife, a perfect mother and a perfect person. I just try to be. Isn’t that enough?  

 

YES THTS ME AND MOM o_O