I sit alone on the bed, no one to tell me everything will turn out alright and I will be okay. I remember somehow you just knew when I needed to be held and talked to.

I no longer have anyone who understands. Who knows what to do. They look at me helplessly or try to talk or shout at me to pull it together. Makes me miss you so much more.

What is it about mothers and daughters that bind them together? Is it the girl thing? Or the fact that every mother wants her daughter to not have to go through the pain she herself went through? Whatever it is, it brought Amma and me close enough to understand everything through a look. And she knew how to make everything better. Every single thing. These days, I have been stressed, been feeling very lonely and just missing her so much. I just do not know how to fix things and move on at times.

So I write this and hope that I feel better and start fixing myself.

There is this sari of Amma's - a red onion coloured raw silk sari. I always used to tell her that I would use it to make a salwar suit. And her response would vary between sure, go for it or never! I remembered it for no reason today. That simple rough texture of the sari, the colour that made her glow. The way she draped the sari was simple, effortless and full of grace - made her look very royal indeed.

Six years on, I still do not have the courage to wear that sari. Her amazing cotton chicken work saris, her kosas and kantha works. I want to, but just can not. I want to give them away, but cannot. At times, I open your wardrobe and try to smell you through the saris - the dry cleaned and wrapped saris. For many, it sounds like utter nonsense. But I still try. Her purse, with her telephone diary - it makes me cry every time.

Ma, it is not that I don't like wearing your saris as Appa says. It just hurts a lot, still. I am sorry...

I was wondering, do you remember me? Still? It has been six years. More than that.

I am sure you are sitting in heaven, sipping chai and reading Premchand. And I am also sure that you are wearing a gorgeous sari that shows off your awesome figure. Your long, thick, silky hair is combed into the perfect braid and your glasses are sitting on your nose as you read. Nary a care in the world.

But I am not in heaven. Hell, I am sure I won't even get to heaven. That it is the hell for me (now, I don't know if it is burning or freezing in hell, but either option scares me... ) But I wonder if I will get to meet you again. Feel your touch. Smell your motherly smell. I wonder if you will ever cook for me and if we will ever be a family again - you, Papa, Bhai and me. But most of all I wonder, and pray that you will let me put my head in your lap. And mere sir par haath pherogi...  I wonder, but will never find out. I miss you Amma. So much. So so much. So much.

Why This Blog?

My mother died six years ago. That is a long time by any standard. But I still feel as lost and as confused at times like the first time I heard it.

There are new things that happen every day, new events, news I want to share with her every day. Hell, there are even times when I have nightmares. I have tried counselling, I have tried to forget. I know nothing will work. There is a gap that no one and nothing can fulfill. I have accepted it, but nothing stops me from missing her. And this is my way and my place to let the pain and the longing be. This will be raw and honest, it will make me squirm too sometimes. But this is my catharsis. This is for me and for no one else.

Why am I making this public? Because there may be others like me who may need to say it out loud. This is for anyone who has lost the love and the care of their mothers. Or anyone else they loved for that matter. This is so that I can feel and not feel at the same time.