Hail Mary, the absolute

To anyone who knows anything history, the use of the salutation Hail, brings out either of the two extreme feelings. A chill, from the haunting memory of torture, epitomised by Hail Hitler, and the diagonally opposite warmth of love which is Hail Mary, full of grace.
Once in a while, though inbetweens rarely get recorded in history, they occur, and occasionally in our house too. Domestically she is known as amma.
Mary, because of the name, her maiden name, or atleast what I think is a maiden name. And Hitler because of the Iron rule she would exert.
I know your will’ing to tear at me for portraying her as such, but just wait till you read the extent of the dictatorial powers she commanded.

The Kitchen is mine

I decide what can make its out way from the larder through your food tube to god knows where. And believe me, word was seen by one and all as command. It still is an unwritten rule. She even had to insert a clause to make it possible for her favorite son (no prizes for guessing who!) to help himself while slogging the study holidays. No doubt, the rule had to be suitably amended when her second son also had to stay back home

The house is yours, keep it clean

Not one belonging of yours out of place. She doesn’t destroy it. She makes you clean it up. Books, clothes whatever.

You dirty the dining table, apart from the splatter of words, you’ve gotta clean it up yourself. Now, inevitably she also drops the curry on the sheet. But that’s justified as “After all, its I only who’s going to clean it up”

It’s a sin to be found walking in the house without wearing chappals. The tangible consequence being that your not allowed on any bed without proving to her satisfaction that the feet have been since washed.

The TV is yours to see, but I decide what you can, and when(and sometimes, even who)
(But of course, mamma, that’s only when you’re around!)

Would you believe that I had to nag her for a week, and be the best son in the world, every time I wanted to see a European football match, which inevitably is played only at night, Indian time.
Not that rules were always obeyed, but there was never a lack of fear+ guilt.
Seven to nine at night was strictly off bounds for TV. The only place you can be would be at your table, you’ve got to have a book in front of you, whether you study or not, oh forget it, whether you have to study or not.

Now being outside the house was again not an option. She expected us to be good boys, and in Kerala, good boys have nothing important to do out of home after 7 in the night. (And for the record, bad boys were simply those who gathered together in the late hours and sat on the sides of the small bridges which are everywhere and simply talked. The occasional cigarette or the rare comment at the very rare female who dared to go out of the house is an exception.

Chappathis?, you’ve got to do your share!

Believe it or not, Chappathis were the most wanted item on our breakfast wish-list, and for amma, the most hectic. On school days, she claimed no time, on Saturdays, we cried foul. So she came up with the idea, you want Chappathi’s for breakfast, you’ve got to help out in the kitchen. Well, all three of us weren’t welcome at the same time. That was too tiresome for her, so it was only one of us who had to stand next to her, rolling them, unmade chappathi’s or toasting them, enduring her comments on the perfect round shape, or a little too much oil or even worse, the odd one gone charred (which was, as a rule, reserved for the maker.)

I guess its one heck of a job to be momma. Tell her that, and she'll suggest getting paid for it.

And oh, I forgot, what prompted me to write this was a conversation I had with her last week.
I was just back from home and had promised to call her on Sunday. I called her two days early on Friday, partly because, well, you would have read the previous post by now! And while winding up, I told her Id call her next Friday, when she came up with the idea that next week also, why don’t you give a surprise by calling two days early!!
I said I wont. (but I did)

It’s a pleasure to know that people really appreciate the difference you make to their lives. Well, we do talk about being there when the neighbour needs you. But do we make an effort to make people who love us feel wanted?

To all my friends and my sweet mother(with the most frightening pair of eyes in the world), who gave me a wonderful week, Hail, your the best in ther world.

And by the way people, there’s a rule-the day my mother gets to know my blog, Im quitting!

Yeah, I mean it