“My Mother, My First Teacher”

“My Mother, My First Teacher”

I was like a little bird that was unaware of the realistic world, till my mother pushed me out of the nest. I flied carefree without knowing, where I am willing to go and where I actually reached. Like birds experience such scenarios very early in life, we human beings take several years to be put in such situations. Since our birth, we are pampered and loved to an extent that makes us a dainty doll (or any other pampered toy). We live in the world of wonderland which is fabricated by the unfeasible stories of our parents. In my case, my father is a splendid storyteller and all his stories were fables. I’ve known the stories of a crow, rat and tiger, sparrow, eagle and several other forest creatures. Whereas the only stories I remember of my mother was how my grandmother was once bitten by a venomous Scorpio, how my aunt once fell from the balcony, and how she managed to top in all her classes.

When my father opted for unrealistic stories to send us (my brother and I) to sleep, my mother opted for a very realistic approach which made me closer to my father and I continued to be a daddy’s girl till I reached puberty. Puberty does make a lot of difference in a girl’s life and it did to mine too. Fortunately or unfortunately I reached to puberty few years early to a normal girl’s age which shocked most of the elder ladies of the extended family. When I didn’t even know what has become wrong in me, dealing with those wicked glimpse of those elder ladies used to make me burst in tears and that when I  actually came much closer to my mother. Until then, she was just a nanny to me, who used to cook for me, dress me in school uniform, drop me to and pick me from bus stop, assist me in completing my homework and some of the times bore me with pragmatic accidental tales of her life. Like any other child I had a cheery life for which I now thank my mother. She kept everything to herself and only showered affection, care and cosset to us. We never got to know, how she is butchering her desires just to endow us with entities of our needs.

When I grew up to an age when problems started reaching to me, my mother my teacher wordlessly taught me how to stay strong. With a calm and composed face of hers no one could ever imagine the struggles she encountered every day of her life. No teacher ever taught me anything beyond studies but my mother did and in a way that I also didn’t realize that I’ve learnt a lesson today. My heart has her beats, My lips owns her smile, She is not mere a mother She is a teacher inside.

 

———— About the Author: This article has been contributed by Ariba Saeed, our intern. Ariba is a graduate from St.Stephen’s College, Delhi, an institute which gave her wings to fly high in sky. At present she is pursuing PG Diploma in Public Relations from Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan with an anticipation of churning her career dilemma. She is an optimistic soul who not only preaches optimism but lives with it every day. Her mother is her idol of patience, strength and hope. Her writing is plagiarism free as it comes straight from her heart. 

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