It is hard for me to recall a day when I had a row with my mother. This was firstly because I love my mum like no other, and secondly, I am a peace-loving person. I prefer to settle any disagreement peacefully rather than have a dispute over it. But that day was particularly strange.

Every morning, my mum would wake me up for Fajr prayers, after which I would get ready for work. However, that morning, though she had tried to wake me up a couple of times, I couldn’t get up despite her attempts as I had been up very late trying to complete an assignment. As a result, I missed my prayers. I knew it wasn’t my mum’s fault, but the guilt of missing my prayers involuntarily made me uncomfortable. I ended up not speaking to my mum, which made me even more irritated.

Later, I accidentally bumped into a chair, causing the tea in my hand to spill on my clothes. I looked at my clothes in dismay and wondered what to do. I had to give a presentation and was already running late, which meant I had no time to change. So, I had no other option but to go in those tea-stained clothes.

I was so embarrassed to see that I was late for work, while everybody in the conference room was waiting for me. Panting for breath, I dashed inside the room. I tried to conceal the stains with my dupatta as much as I could. I took a deep breath and tried to gather myself. Somehow, I delivered my presentation and came out of the conference room with a heavy heart.

The entire day, I was sad and hardly spoke to anyone. Usually, my mother messages or calls me, but that day she didn’t. In the evening, I trudged my way back home. My head was clouded, and I felt shattered.

Everything was silent and still at home. I couldn’t see my mum, though normally she greets me at the door when I return from work. My heart lurched as I remembered that she had an appointment with the ophthalmologist and I had to accompany her. But amidst the chaos, I had forgotten it completely. I groped for my phone and tried calling her, but the number was not reachable.

I felt dreadful. My head was spinning while beads of tears rolled down my cheeks. I kept my head on my pillow and shut my eyes. I must have been lying there for a couple of minutes when suddenly I felt a small pair of palms covering my eyes.

I opened my eyes to find a cute little girl smiling at me. She tugged at my clothes and urged me to come outside with her. I followed her into the living room, from where I could hear voices. There was some sort of celebration going on. The entire room was packed with people and adorned with balloons and bunting. The table was laden with eatables and, right in the middle of it, a big chocolate cake was placed.

I saw my parents, who were strangely looking much younger. My mum scooped this little girl in her arms and gently pecked her on the cheeks. I felt envious; just then, the crowd chorused, “Happy Birthday Ramsha!”

I then realised that this little girl was my younger self. I tried to say something, but no sound came out of my mouth. Just then, my hand banged against something hard.

“Oww!” I yelped in pain, and to my astonishment, I found that I was in my bed while my hand had banged against the bedpost. I felt nostalgic remembering all the incidents from my childhood.

Then I decided to turn my nostalgia into some sort of happy memories. Because usually our parents are making our days memorable be it our birthday, our success in academics or our success in our co-curricular activities. Sadly, we don’t care about our parents’ special days, or how can we make their days memorable.

So this made me jump from my bed, as I had already wasted the day whining. I decided to prepare my mum’s favourite biryani and fruit trifle.

By the time my mum came back, everything was ready. I quickly rushed to greet her and mumbled an apology immediately.

Mum smiled and gently hugged me. ‘What’s wrong, my dear?”

I sheepishly smiled and asked her what the doctor had said. She told me that her eyesight had weakened and so she would need a pair of glasses. I told her to freshen up as I had a surprise for her. After she returned, she was stunned to see the table set with food.

“I just hope you like it, though I know it can never taste as good as yours!” I said.

She took a spoon, and I could see her expression change… “I didn’t know my daughter could cook so well on her own?” she said.

I was so happy to hear that, because it was not flattery, her words and expression carried a kind of surprise and pride that felt real.

That day, I realised so many things about motherhood… how it’s often stitched together with silent sacrifices, unnoticed glances and unspoken pride. I understood that mothers carry worlds within them — expectations, worries, love and a constant fear of not doing enough. And maybe that’s what motherhood is too: learning to let go, learning to see your child in a new light and quietly standing behind them, proud, even when words don’t always come easy.

Published in Dawn, Young World, May 31st, 2025