I look like Her

Maa, do you remember?

Do you remember the day you lovingly narrated the story of my birth? I can recall how you gently told me how I came to be, a part of your soul from a part of your body, tears of pure joy welling up in your eyes.

It was my 10th birthday when I held you close and whispered, "Maa, I want to wear your saree. I want to look just like you." That day, I truly felt like your reflection. You captured that precious moment with your old Kodak camera, placing the photo right in front of your desk. Every time you passed by it, you'd pause, a heartwarming smile gracing your day-weary face, conveying a world of emotion.

Do you remember?

When Bhai turned 5, I yearned to cut the birthday cake and blow out the candles, even though his name was etched on it. Despite our lessons in sharing, that cake suddenly felt intensely personal. I remember how you made us hold the knife together while cutting it, your radiant smile on full display that day.

Maa, do you remember?

As I prepared for my final examinations, studying into the late hours of the night, you sat beside me in a chair, determined to stay awake. No matter how many times I urged you to return to your bed, you remained there all night long. You lovingly fed me while I buried myself amidst my notebooks and textbooks. You never forgot to pack my water bottle, the lunchbox, and my textbooks. How did you manage to remember every little detail, Maa?

I remember.

I remember how tears welled up in my eyes when the doctors confirmed that the pain in your stomach was not due to gastric problems but malignancy. You lay on the hospital bed, holding my hand, and whispered, "I'll be back home soon, dear. Focus on your board examinations."

Maa,

I wish you could have waited just a bit longer to see my results. I longed for your scolding when I couldn't concentrate. I yearned for you to visit my teachers as you always did, telling them, "She will definitely improve. I know she is trying her best."

I yearned for you to wake up.

Maa,

Four years have passed, and I've been living alone. The picture is still on your desk. I can still feel the warmth of your touch, even though you can't feel mine. I still imagine you returning every night, but then, I wake up. I wake up and pack our lunchboxes and water bottles for school. We still call out "Maa!" when we return from school.

Maa,

They say, "You look just like your mother." I smile back through the tears.

I wear your saree. I adorn myself with your ornaments. And every time I do, I see you capturing my image with that old Kodak camera, saying, "You look just like me, my beloved girl!"