Mother- The Things She Bestows

When you grow up Desi, you're bound to hear taunts about whose side of the family you are truly faithful to- its ridiculous but its good humour to look back at. I’m laughing as I type this because ive been victim to those words myself- apparently I look MORE like my father than I resemble my mother and she sometimes uses this as ammo against my insubordinate behaviour which clearly goes unapproved.

Ah, Desi’s. You ridiculous bunch. I cant change the way I look- unless you pay me money for procedures but YOU'RE DESI AND HAVE NO CONCEPT OF POCKET MONEY EITHER?

(This can be an entirley different post on its own)

The fact of the matter is, I miss my mother a lot presently. I miss her presence; which consists of browsing her phone on the sofa we both sit on, till she falls asleep with the it in her lap, and I have to tell her to go to sleep (roles reversed?)

I have a longing for this routine at the moment. I’m on a sofa right now, but my mother isn't hogging the charging port to my right, and that is odd, but understandable.

This isn't the kind of longing that’s routine homesickness- its more of a yearning where I want to express what’s in my head about her.

As an adolescent, rebellious child, you will fight with your mother, exceptionally a lot. Your relationship will have its patches of toxicity, you will disagree on everything. There will be a hurtful exchange of words where you both will end up upset almost every night.

She will detest your choice of friends, your habits. Your makeup, the way you dress (Please don’t tell my mother I bought another band t-shirt. Unless you read this yourself ammi. Its a harmless birthday present. Along with this other shirt that I ordered. *gulps*) You understand; Our mothers will seldom let us discover our shameful aesthetic at 13 years of age. And we will contradict it with all the 101 ways of saying how they wont ‘let us be.’

 Except she’s carved you with crimson-tinted paint made from her own blood, and gave you a handful of soul so you can breathe on your own- in no way is your own mother ever going to ‘let you be.’ Regardless you have her company, or not.

It is only in time we discover that we all end up like our mothers, in one way or another.

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I feel the need to put this out there and get it off my chest because I wan to address this feeling, this dedication for everyone to not miss out on this bittersweet longing and appreciation.

 Some of you, may not have experienced the presence of a mother in your lives, not for the longest while, nor ever. For whatever misfortune it is that has taken away this blessing from you, never be upset, or spiteful. It is not their constant influence physically around us, that brings us to be like them. Regardless of knowing your mother’s, having spent time with them or not. There is always going to be a part of her within every fiber of your glorious being. You’ve been stitched from her thread, so in some way- whether its the way she looks, or her habits, her personality- you will be a mirror to her eternal existence, right there up in the stars. *where she’s also probably detesting the way you dress or look because there’s hardly ever a concept of pleasing a mother?*

Now this little dedication to the light of my life isn't to look back at our embarrassing relationship and laugh off regrets. Its more focused to appreciate my own existence which, as I said, is stitched from her own thread.

I have sat with myself for a while, and thought of all it is that I do, and can do. I have focused on my habits, and interests. Almost every thing that my mind consists of can be traced back to my mother’s existence and liking. (so much for originality)

1. Photography 

I severely miss my mother because I need to tell her that I am beginning to feel like her with every photograph I take-

My mother in her years of absolute liberty had a camera on her and gave my family and some of her own, vast amounts of memories in matte. I don’t think we ever needed to be photographed in a studio?- My brother and I- We had a photographer right at home. 

(here is embarrassing proof of said privilege)

I've observed ammi talk about her camera and passion- it is quite honestly, one of the most innocent expression of love ive witnessed in my life, so far. Her words are plentiful for one to picture the way her hands would be grasping the machine, how close or how far she would hold it from her face. The amount of time she would hold her breath for, or her left eye fluttering just slightly, as she frames her vision into an analogue input.

 So, dear mother. When I do the same with my own camera- an investment of mine you welcomed with minimal objection (I was shocked). I am entirely in your essence. I may seldom resemble you, but I know the threads of passion that you sew in my skin sink deeper into their holes and tighten, every time I hold my breath as I bring the camera close to my eye.

 *Before I continue I just want to mention this out of light humor that my mother IS GOING TO BE SO ARROGANT AFTER SHE READS THIS AND I BET SHE’S DOING HAIR FLIPS OUT OF PRIDE ALREADY. Show-off…*

2. Singing

*IN NO WAY DO I CLAIM I CAN SING. I claim to have a very dormant love for singing and occasionally try my hand at it. I am only a bathroom singer*

Now, my mother is like a bird that loves to sing it’s song, as it does so sweet at dawn after a lovely slumber. My mother’s voice is fairly similar to a bird’s honestly- it’s angelic, like her pitch and frequencies are bathing in Rooh-Afza. It’s mellow and delicate, similar to the first few rays of sun in the AM. 

You’d be surprised to know that sometimes, when my mother picks up the phone, people on the other end often tell her, ‘Bachay, give the phone to an elder’

 (at this point Ayesha died of laughter at the CUTENESS that transcends with this occurrence)

Khair, you understand that her voice never aged, along with her fiery spirit.

This, is a point of contradiction for me when it comes to our voices. I sound nothing like her-

My voice is considerably loud and deep- its heavier compared to hers. Which makes ours worlds apart basically. But that didn’t stop fetus Ayesha from pretending to be the next Hilary Duff at age 10, no.

Ive done my little bits of singing, in embarrassing school choirs and events, in my bathroom making videos on a sufficient digital camera. I still do sometimes- I upload them with awkward titles on my Soundcloud because I’m shy to take them seriously (lol)

Quite the years back, my mother got us (fat brother and I) a keyboard to invest our interest in because FIFA and Tekken on the PS2 isn't the way you should spend your summer?

Initially,I ignored the keyboard harder than I ignored my studies in my second year of A levels. But, now to this day, ive grown so fond of the little guy. Every trip back results in me playing around with it and doing the same bit of embarrassing recording.

I would be shy if my mother walked in on me singing and playing it- that has changed, partly because ive found comfort in knowing that she WANTED this to happen. (Trying to be the next Christina Aguilera here, guys)

I cant talk about myself without mentioning ammi- such is the case here.

Ammi KNOWS she has a nice voice- and again, in her years of ‘absolute liberty’, she went to Sitaar classes with my other Khala, the sister older to her. (ammi’s the youngest among 5 children) she would experiment with her musical genius in those years, whether with an instrument, or whether spending her time making cassettes out of all the music that spoke to her in those years.

She still has those cassettes with handwritten titles- lots of ABBA in there.

Now, we celebrate her love for music at home sometimes by blasting ABBA on the speakers sometimes. She’s sure to have a music application on her phone to transcend into her own melodious cosmos whenever she wants.

This time around when I flew back- I heard her falling asleep to music when she had trouble doing so. (I could hear it because I once stole her earphones and never gave them back so, speakers was the only resort.)

 It was a moment like that, where I realized, and said to myself that she truly encapsulates most of your existence, Ayesha. She listens to her own music for slumber, and you to your own kind.

*My kind has become an issue- apparently ''band t-shirts wont get you rishtay’’- ammi 2018. Debate is open.

But regardless of our conflicting choices on music, I know that my love for this form of art is an influence I get from her. She’s encouraged singing, she has encouraged music to be listened loudly rather than through a chord that goes to your ears. She’s let us dance to the tunes we like, we still do. She bears with James Hetfield and Bruce Dickinson hitting their notes in the car when my brother puts them on. (*Yay cheekh kyun rahay hain?/ Why are they screaming?* she says.) Because they’re Metallica and Iron Maiden, ammi?

She disapproves, but doesn't stop us from headbanging and coming home with soar necks every time we go to an underground metal concert. She tends to our necks because she knows that’s the music that we resort to as a means of escape, for a little while.

Heck ,she even took fetus Yusuf and Ayesha to all the cool concerts- My mother accompanied us to E.P concerts in the early 2000’s. There was an Atif Aslam concert in there as well.

I think these two will suffice for now- I discover more intricate details everyday; Details that have made me more like her.

Ammi, I know you're a tad worried these days. But you're a blazing flame, and I feed off your fire to keep my passions burning. You have given me more than what you were supposed to. I may have failed your upbringing on several occasions with my rebellious and gullible nature, but I will never disappoint my love for art- for it is you who is part reason of why I acknowledge them so dearly as well.