On Mothers.

The amount of sheer love most mothers hold for their kids is so much that it scares me how someone can be so selfless. It's so palpable in every wrinkle that our dress sometimes withholds because we pressed it for ourselves and we know if it was for her, she would never have allowed it to stay on. The food she makes while preparing roti on the side has taste of her hurried concern that her children don't have to bear another hunger pang. The acceptance in her disapproving sighs and the love hidden in desperate plea for not picking up her incessant calls tell tales of her protectiveness.The redness of her eyes and pain of her feet every night bear witness to irreplaceable capacity to work every minute for sake of her children. When I see most mothers around me, their life is all about their children.

I belong to a generation who thinks it might not be a good idea devoting our whole-selves to nurture the next generation (doesn't mean I consider it wrong. Self-love is important) and I think it's partly because we are extremely afraid of the idea and example of selflessness set by generation of own mothers. Of course, fathers have their own set of struggles but the kind of love mothers have doesn't seem to be something that belong to this harsh, stony cold world. It's terrifyingly beautiful.