While I was showing my younger brother stuff that I had
shopped today, Mom came up behind me and said “You know you’re 21. You can walk
without holding my hand in the market.” I smiled at her and replied “Yes I can.
But I won’t.” I won’t Mom, not till I have your hand to hold. I know I am the
one who keeps screaming all day that I am a grown up now, that I need ‘my own
space’, that I should be allowed out till late and yes, I want to do all those
things, but I also want you.
When I go out with my friends, all 20 something confused
souls wandering in the streets of the world trying to find their own space, I
don’t hold anyone’s hand. I walk with my head held high, I walk with a careful
eye, I walk just like you taught me how to- not very fast, nor lagging behind.
I walk keeping in mind all your instructions- be careful of the strangers, keep
an eye on your friends too, stop not till you cross the road. I walk alone. And
when we’re in an extremely crowded place, where it’s difficult to know where I
am, let alone where my friends are, when we’re in a complex situation, we all leave
each other’s hands. With all that you said in mind, and fists closed tight, I
find my way hoping that all those I came with are doing the same. I find my way
and I come to the other side. There, my
friends are often huddled together, waiting for me and others. Sometimes,
they’re panting with relief at finally having found a safe place. And usually
before they ask me, I smile and tell them I’m fine. I tell them it was easy and
ask if they were all able to overcome the hurdles.
But with you Mom, if your hand gets separated, I don’t walk
alone. I look around and wait for you right there. I call out your name for I
know you’ll recognize my voice among a hundred random noises. You don’t even
need to see my face, you just know. You know, like you know everything else.
Like you know when I lie about eating the last piece of chocolate or leaving
the last morsel of green veggies. Like you know when I lie that I came home on
time last night. Like you know when I hide my unwashed clothes and brag about
acing this adulating thing. I search for your hand because I know you wouldn’t
have gone to the easy side of the crowd. I wait for you because I know you
would wait for me. You’ll wait for me not having crossed the road, but waiting
for me to cross it. You believe in me and my strengths even when I don’t. You
are my strength, Mom. I know that
wherever you are standing, you have a hand stretched outward-for me to hold.
I know how to walk alone, you’ve taught me well enough. But
when I am with you, I don’t need to. Thank you Ma for letting me hold your
hand, for giving me a safe haven and for letting me know that I can grow up,
but never grow out of love with you. Thank you.
