A Battle of Nerves

Look at her, the way she is sitting, as if nothing happened. Playing with the phone, my phone! And that too when I am crying here. HOW DARE SHE! Ammaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

No. No use. She just looked up and went back to staring at the screen of the phone. I run towards her and try to claw away the phone. Give me, it’s mine. My hands thrash all about her, but she lifts the phone above her head, out of my reach. Cunning she is eh, I tell you. GIVE ME, I have work to do on it!

She manages to get away from me, and puts away the phone on a ledge way out of my reach. Such a scheming mind. And who would have thought her capable of all this, when she whispers I Love You in my ear every night. She is supposed to love me. She is supposed to give me what I ask. Still, she doesn’t. Why? Does she not really love me? Ammmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

She lets out a deep sigh. Her patience is on the edge, I know. Any moment now, her hand might rise, and fall thundering on my back. Don’t hit me… I look at her with wide eyes. Are you going to hit me?

No, she doesn’t. She only takes another deep breath and calls my name in a low voice. Phew! Bach gaya! But no, how can she deny me what I asked! I should get what I want. Ammmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

She comes near me and looks at me in the eye. Look, she says very very softly, and I have to lower my voice so that I can hear her. I told you we will go out in the evening. It is too hot now. If you want me to take you out later you have to stop crying now. She says all this, very very slowly, as if she is trying not to shout. Her fingers are massaging her forehead. My crying must be giving her one helluva headache. Poor woman. My eyes fall on the top of that ledge. My phoooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeee.

She shakes her head and goes to the kitchen. Unscrewing the cap of a bottle, she gulps almost half the water it held. Waittt Waitt… My water… I want waterrrrrrrrrrr… she picks up a glass from the trolley, fills it half and hands it to me. All, with no words, no expression on her face. What is she thinking. Is she going to cry? Is she going to shout? Will she scold me? Am I not her dear one? She can’t possibly hate me, can she?

My lips must have made a ‘bumpety’ shape, for her face has softened now. She calls it a pout. And my pout always softens her. She is opening her arms, and asking me to come to her. There is a small smile peeping out of her chapped but still beautiful lips. Ah, hasee tho phasee. Now all I have to do is maintain the bumpety for just a while longer. Not too long, that will spoil the trick. Just long enough for her to forget her anger.


Courtest: Google Images

I go near her, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. The bumpety is sure hard to maintain when you are not really sad, no? Sweety pie, she calls me, and hoists me on her lap. I close my eyes as her hands gently wipe away my tears. I put my head to her chest to listen to the drum beats there. The beats seem to call out, Sidhu, Sidhu, and somehow, that is very relaxing to hear. my arms go around her, although not completely. She is still too big and I am too small.Her fingers caress my cheek, as the last remnants of my wails escape my lungs as wisps. She has slowly started to rock me. My eyes are becoming heavy. I don’t want to sleep yet, but her smell is so lovely that I can’t pull myself away. I don’t want to. She loves me, no doubt about that. And I love her too. My sweet mother, my amma… zzzzz….

This post was written for Project 365 program at We Post Daily. The prompt for today was “Write about the last disagreement you had with a friend or family member – from their perspective….”.

13 comments on “A Battle of Nerves

  1. Liked the post on so many many levels, especially since the same chain of thoughts run through me when I am dealing with my little 2 yr old girl’s tantrums 😀 Lovely take on the prompt 😀


  2. Nice take Yamini. Of course, I hope I never have to pen down Rishi (my son’s) thoughts. I might rate a minus 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. And thats without him actually knowing about the fact that he features heavily on my blog 🙂 kudos agaib


  3. Awww…Very nice! Story of every mother and child. 🙂 Beautifully narrated from the child’s point of view. My first visit here and I’m feeling sorry that I didn’t drop in earlier. 🙂


  4. Such a lovely one, Yamini. About the smell, how can I not agree? Mothers have this smell. When I was small, I would bury my nose into my mom’s sari, her hair and cheeks, her pillow and her blanket. Sometimes when something she had cooked was too hard she chewed it a bit first before putting it into my mouth. Tasted great. 🙂


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