I have troubled her so much, all my life. She has never yelled at me. Not once. She has always been that idol of kindness and love for me. I am sure many who knew her have similar stories to share. But I like to think mine is special.
I used to see her help my mother in the kitchen. They would finish cooking and sit down for a foot massage. Yes, it was a daily ritual. Every evening after cooking food, my mom would massage her tired heels. She never cared enough for herself, always trying to find someone who could do with her help. She was constantly in and out of the house, mostly because of others’ problems. We had to literally pull her down on a chair and hold her to give some respite to the dog tired legs and feet.
She worried about my mom endlessly. I could never understand the bond they shared, like the soul sisters who were not actually sisters. She would always bring exotic food for us, especially for mother, whenever she went out for dinner. I got my share of new clothes and toys from her. She was my tutor too. I learned science, geography and a lot about English from her. I’m writing today because of her dedication, to get me education, so I could make something out of my life.
And make I did. Now I am a writer and a journalist. I see people’s troubles and write about it. I try to help them as much as I can. She might not have been my mother, but I got all these traits from her.
In every way, I can call her my first mother and my own, my second. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love my mother. I did, but I loved her more. She had no reason to look after us like she did. But, she invested a lot of time, money and effort to get me where I now am. She still treats me like a kid, gifting me new clothes and cooking something good for me, whenever I visit.
Now, who would do that for a house-maid’s daughter?