Too Late...

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 34; the thirty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "Of-Course, I'm insane"

Sometimes realization dawns in a bit too late;
Sometimes its too late to repent

"Of course I am insane",

 cries Shamila in  loud piercing voice. Her son was stunned, for he seldom heard his mother raising her voice. In fact the last time he heard his mother shouting was to warn him against a speeding car, that could have killed him.

"If cooking something for my own self is Insanity, then yes I am insane.I m fed up of eating porridge everyday. If you can't feed me then let me cook for myself. And don't you forget it is my house still. I can do as I please."

 She carried on her angered rambling. Abhilash, her son stood there silently rooted. This was the longest he heard her speaking in a long while.

"Did you just see", it was his wife's turn of grumbling now, "your mother threatened us with that 'my house' thing. She has become such a nuisance these days". Abhilash stood oblivious to it. He was lost somewhere else. He realized he had not heard his mother speaking much. In fact, her mother usually stayed silent, in her room. He never went to see her o talk to her. He turned to go to see his mother.

"Abhilash", suddenly his wife called him for something an the idea was dropped. Days went by, the incident was forgotten. Everyone got busy with their life. Every morning he thought he would visit his mother's

room and by night he would postpone the plan to next day.

Shamila was a stranger in her own house. A house where once she ruled like a proud queen. Her now deceased husband and her now stranger son had been her source of strength. She rarely bought herself a new sari because their budget only allowed a limited expenses and they both, only too happily made it on their son. She was always too delighted to cook delicacies on her son's demand. A son who now left her to survive on porridge only. And she was being called insane for trying to feed herself a decent food.

It was her granddaughter's birthday today, her beautiful granddaughter. She wanted to do so much for her but knew better than to attempt anything. She waited impatiently in her room for her angel to come to her for her blessings. Finally the door opened and there she stood. Shamila couldn't believe this once tiny child is 16 now.

"Grandma", she whispered.
"Yes my child", Shamila said smiling broadly with all the love she had.
"I have thrown a party this evening. I don't want you to create any scene and spoil my day today. So please stay inside".

Shamila was dumbstruck, taken aback, stunned to silence. After few seconds of silence her granddaughter stormed out of her room without taking her blessings and wishes.For hours she stayed making excuses to
herself for he granddaughter's behaviour, like she has always done for her son and daughter in law.

"Oh! I have a beautiful gift for her that will make her very happy." She mumbled to herself. And with that she ransacked the only wooden cupboard in her room.

"Thats it", her eyes gleamed as she found it. In. her excitement she almost ran outside calling her granddaughter's name. And before she could stop herself, it was too late. She didn't realize it was evening
already. In the hall everyone was staring at her as if she was some insane crazy being.

"Grandma", screamed her granddaughter, "I told you not to come out. But you don't listen to anyone,do you? You are such an embarrassment. You ruined my evening. You can't see anyone happy."

Abhilash just then walked in with a huge cake, and the attention was diverted. He saw his mother standing like she has just seen a ghost. And then ever so slowly she walked back into the room.

It was 2 in the night an he couldn't sleep. To contain his restlessness he decided to take a walk on the terrace. But instead his feet found their own way to his mother's room. He softly opened the door and saw his mother sleeping.He couldn't resist walking in. He has not been here since his childhood. This used to be his playroom. He could see this was tiny and shabby. He decided to move his mother into another room first thing tomorrow. The wooden cupboard was open, everything was scattered.

"She is usually tidy. She must have been looking for something". 

He tidied up the cupboard and moved to the dying table. On it where some books, one frame of his dad. some of his childhood, some of his daughter and some family photographs. He ran a loving finger over each
of them. And then there was an old leather bound notebook, with something scribbled in his mother's hand writing  Her diary. He drew the chair, it made a screeching sound. He looked worriedly at his mother, and was relieved to find her sleeping still. He sat on the chair relishing the peace this room had, may be because of his mother's presence. He flipped open the diary.The ink had faded away.He could hardly make out the content.As far as he could decipher, it was a well kept journal of her life.The diary had been the witness of every moment o her life, of all her pain and pleasures. One page had the story of his birth, other o his first day of school, and the death of his father and his marriage and birth of his daughter Tears ran down his eyes as he leafed through it. An then the last entry of today. It read:

"I have no idea where did I go wrong. Where did I fail in my upbringing. Why my own flesh and blood is so oblivious to my pin and suffering. I do not ask for luxuries, neither do I want their world to center around me. All I ever wanted, needed, was a little respect. Don't I deserve it. Not for providing everything to my child, not for sacrifices that I have made,but for being a mother . If desiring a little attention,a little respect, a little love makes me insane, then of course I am insane."

And he cried for the first time in years. He wanted to hug his mother, tell her that he is sorry an that he is going to make it all right. He walked to her bed side,or rather cot side. She slept peacefully. Her face strained with tears.In her fist hung a golden locket, a family heritage, that was once his proud possession until he grew up.

"She must have been looking for it to gift to her granddaughter".

He gently pulled the locket from her fist. And her hand fell with a lifeless jerk. He gasped. She couldn't be gone. He tried to look for some signs of life in her but in vain. She had resigned from her life, from him. And he cried, because it was too late. Cried because the realization crept in too late.Cried because he now felt like an orphan.He cried for the first time after his father's death, on his mother's.

Author's Note: Don't ever forget, life moves in a complete circle. History can and will repeat itself. The past will come back to you like a boomerang, sooner or later. So think before you act, because you decide your future by your present.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 05