A bouquet for Amma, delivered by hand
Slip the string off and unwrap it
from your kids
Happy Mother's Day
We did, Amma. Dal, rice and the lime pickle you packed. There's a bouquet for you a little further down.
Every night, without fail. We would know these texts anywhere.
Reached?
yes ma
Did you eat?
yes
What did you eat?
food 🙂
Send photo.
Too little. Eat curd also. Lock the door. Goodnight.
goodnight ma ❤️
'Waste of money,' you said, every single time. So here is a bunch that never wilts.
Tap the flowers. They like the attention.
Every flower, one thank you. 🌷
We swore we never would. We do.
Wear a sweater. I'm feeling cold.
Do you think money grows on trees?
Come home before dark. Not for me, for the traffic.
I'm not angry. I'm only disappointed.
Don't tell me five minutes. I know your five minutes.
Every one of these has been your WhatsApp DP at some point.
Sunday, written slowly
You taught us to fold a sari, a samosa and a bad day. You stayed up through every fever and every board exam, and you were still the first one awake to pack the tiffin. You call at 9:47 to ask if we have reached, even when we have been home for an hour. We used to roll our eyes. Now we wait for it. Thank you for the dal nobody else can make, for the notes tucked into the tiffin, and for never once hanging up first.
Your kids (still your babies)