Skip to main content

The most important person in our lives.



He was getting ready for work, when his mother came into his room with breakfast.
“Mom, what are you doing, I don’t want it.” he said as he adjusted his shirt.
“Have some son, have little” his mother tried like every day.
“Please, stop it, Don’t irritate. Go away from here” he said as he snatched the plate from his mother and kept it away.
She slowly walked out of the room.
Then as he came out of the room, he was busy putting on his shoes.
“Son, can you get me some stitching needles and cloth. I have lost my needles and I feel bored the whole day.” she requested.
“I am too late for work. You should have told me yesterday. I can’t get it now” he said as he left the house.
The mother was all alone in the house now.
She walked to the kitchen and went on to do her daily work. Her son would be back in the evening and she wanted to prepare son good food and make him happy.
Then in the evening he came back, tired and frustrated. His day didn’t go well.
He threw his bag and tie to the desk and fell on the sofa.
His mother heard her son return.
“Son, your home” she was busy cooking in the kitchen.
“I’ll get you food soon” she said. She wanted the food to be fresh and hot and started late, unfortunately, her son had come home early.
He was already frustrated with his day. He didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.
“It’s fine mom, let it be. I don’t want it now. Can’t you make it a little faster and keep” he went to his room and slammed the door shut.
Late in the evening he got a message from his friend “Due, Party tonight at My house”
“Mom, I am going out tonight.” He said to his mother.
“But son, I have already prepared the food”
“It’s fine. Keep for tomorrow. I’ll eat it for lunch” he said.
He went to his room to get dressed.
He was ready and sat on the sofa putting his socks. There he saw a picture at the corner of the house.
The picture was off his real mother who had passed away when he was young. He missed his mother a lot. He remembered how much he was missing her.
He went and got the picture, placed it at the center of the room.
Then he removed his socks, his clothes and got into his night clothes. His mother was silently sitting on a chair. He went and sat near her feet.
She smiled and was happy that her son was close to her.
“Are you not going to the party” she asked.
“No mom, no party is more important than you” he said. She wasn’t his real mom; he had been adopted her at a very young age.
From that day onwards, he never disrespected his mother ever. Because none of your friends are going to remember the part you attended, but your mother is going to remember the night you stayed with her.



Message: No job is more important than your mother, no party is worth leaving her alone. Never leave her alone.

Popular posts from this blog

Under attack

Under Attack

“We have a situation at the government district hospital. There seems to be an unidentified individual who has taken over wards on the right wing of the building. The doctors say he headed towards the paediatrics ward, and that he had a handgun with him, You need to report there immediately. We will send backup as soon as possible. We have to sort it out before the situation escalates to national news.” The chief commissioner gave the order. This was my first year as an inspector of this small town and this was a very delicate case to handle, in fact it required planning and a trained squad. I wasn’t ready for this but there was no other way. All the other officers were posted for security for the Minter of Energy who was visiting a Dam site for hydroelectricity opportunities. This Dam was the only thing which provided some economical value for the town. There was nothing much here. Population was below ten thousand, all below par socio economic status. The only concret…

The abandoned

The Abandoned
Mr. Kuthappa leaned against the wall adjacent to his bed and sipped the brownish, gold liquid from a tetra pack. Abstaining from what my eyes were showing “Mr. Kuthappa, what is that” I paced myself towards him, to show my authority, to demand the respect I deserved, to remind him he was the patient and I was the doctor. But my angry catwalk didn’t seem to intimidate him. Nothing was going to bother him now and we both knew I couldn’t save him with my knowledge or medications. It was too late. His body was completely submerged in the sea of alcohol. He continued sucking through the small hole of the tetra pack waiting to hit the sea bed. This was also a record new low in my life. An alcoholic drinking right in front of his doctor. “Oh, this” he let the pack swing between his index and thumb fingers. “This is what has guided me for the past 25 years. Always there for me in my bad times and good times.” Kuthappa gulped the remaining, squeezed the packet like a toothpas…

The diary of a freedom fighter

The diary of a freedom fighter.
I set the air condition to 18 C, turbo mode on, directed the air flow to my bed. Refreshed after a steaming, hot water shower I crashed, face first on my crisply draped bed. As the cool air performed its duty of drying me, I repositioned myself from prone to supine. A wet patch Today I decided to start a new book. But this time, it wasn’t a bestseller by a famous author, or a critically acclaimed book by an unknown author, or a book suggested by my reader friends (who read one book a year, so it had to be good) or a book recommended by amazon for me. Today, it was my grandfather’s diary, which my father had given me when I was 15 years old. The book dated back to the 1940s and it was a memoir of my grandfather’s time in pre-independent India. After 10 years of procrastination, finally the faded black cover of the diary was staring at me. I took a deep sniff of the approximately middle pages of the book. I did it before every new book. The peculiar, ink …