Lazy Mom Hacks

Was It Sarcastic When She Said –“I Love You”?

I still remember the winters of 2015. It was one of those days when the sun was shining bright but my days were freezing with bareness everywhere. I was always made to sit in the dark corner of a woollen store in Amritsar. The store owner believed that customers would be attracted only if they saw pretty faces and some awesome pieces on the showcase of the entrance. Everybody who entered the store would never make an eye contact with me. They ignored me to the extent that my existence was being questioned by even the store owner. I tried to shout out to those beaming faces scanning through the vibrant shelves but my soul never allowed me to. My sullen heart waited for the day when somebody would call out my name with love. Somebody who would fill my otherwise grey life with vivid colours.

25th December is a merry day for the world alike but it was merrier for me. People were busy lazing around in warm quilts but this lady decided to walk out on the chilly day to do some winter shopping. She stepped in the shop and I could see her silhouette against the bright sun behind her. The long suede boots zipped up her sylphlike legs and the long coat just brushed against the boots. The fur scarf adorned her proudly arched neck. A part of her hair constantly kissed her cheek while her slender fingers shovelled them time and again. My heart skipped a beat and exclaimed – “What a svelte figure!”

Stepping a little closer, I could see her beautiful kohled eyes and the red lips were tempting enough to be kissed. She looked bold and independent and I was no match to her confidence and beauty. I was stealing glances at her when she called out my name. My eyes popped out in astonishment. I almost choked and couldn’t believe my ears. Possibly she was calling out someone else. But no!! She was asking for me. Brushing the sides and creasing the hair, I finally saw into her eyes. Lost in the beauty and dreaming of the future with her, she beckoned me.

It instantly clicked. I knew it was love at first sight. Suddenly the old woollen store turned into the picturesque yellow mustard fields from DDLJ. I was playing Mandolin and the Simran of my life was dancing to my tunes. She exchanged some words with the store owner and held my hand. I simply followed her oblivious of the world.

We walked through the city to the fully blossomed gardens of the city. Everybody who saw us whispered under their breath. They twitched their brows and smirked on my shabby looks. But the moment I saw into her eyes, I knew that she loved me and then, no one else mattered.

I fail to understand what she saw in me that others didn’t. What made her love me so much in spite of the shabby ugly looks? All the while walking down the town, I didn’t find a single being close enough to my style. I looked like, I have been freshly pulled out from the grandpa’s times. I was old fashioned and I knew it! The anxiety of uncertainty of this love and dejection by this society whirled up confusion in my mind. The lady of my life finally sat on the black painted bench of the park and placed a soft peck on my head. Her fingers cupped my cheeks and for the first time she praised me –“Aww baby. This red monkey cap is so cute. I love it. It will keep you warm and protect you from the cold wave. Go Rohan play with your friends and don’t pull out his monkey cap.”

Rohan ran towards his friends and his friends made so much fun of me. Rohan wanted to pull me off and throw me away but his mom, the lady of my life made my existence worth it. I thought she was being sarcastic when she said “I love you” but no she wasn’t. She loved Rohan and loved me equally. I was her knight in the shining armour fighting back the chilly winters for her son. She was the one who instilled love and confidence in me and made me believe that ‘Not everyone likes me but not everyone matters.’ She caressed me, folded me, packed me in zip locks and took good care of me. All the criticism from the society burnt to ashed in the fire of love she bestowed on me.

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