Mother

Vaikom Muhammed Basheer, my favourite malayalam writer, during his elaborate writing career, has written a lot about his family. Following is an excerpt from his short story ‘Amma’ (അമ്മ, Mother) from the book Ormakurippu (ഓര്‍മ്മക്കുറിപ്പ്, Memoirs).

The story begins with the following lines.

The mother writes to the son struggling out his living amid the miseries of a distant city. She writes with pain in her heart.

“Son, I just want to see you.”

Basheer had left his home in his teens to join the freedom movement in Kerala. The story in a whole deals with his journey from Vaikom to Kozhikode to participate in Salt Satyagraha. This almost records his history as a freedom fighter.

But what I wanted to talk here about is ‘Mother’. Even though the story starts with a generalized statement about mother, he tells in his story that he is talking about his mother. Despite this one can clearly make out the ‘Mother’ references in the story is about ‘Mother’, not only his Mother. This ‘Mother’ could be the motherland too. It should be noted here that he uses the more generic ‘Amma’ than the more Muslim specific ‘Umma’ (ഉമ്മ).

After talking about his many experiences with freedom movement, police and a stint of stay in Jail, the story concludes when he returns to his home after many years.

When I entered the home my Mother asked. “Who is it?” I stepped onto the verandah. Mother lit a lamp, and asked as if nothing had happened, “Son, have you eaten anything?”

I said nothing. I was shaken and couldn’t breath, cried. The whole world is  asleep! But my Mother alone was awake! Mother brought a vessel of water and asked me to wash my hands and feet. Then she placed a plate of rice before me.

She asked me nothing.

I was surprised. “How did you know, Umma, that I was coming today?”

Mother replied, “Oh… Nothing. I would make food and wait every night.”

It was a simple statement. Every night I did not turn up, but mother had kept awake waiting for me.

The years have passed. Many things have happened.

But mothers still wait for their sons.

“Son, I just want to see you…”

Note: My Mother is unlikely to read this. But I would like to say to her – “Thanks… for being the Mother”.