My seventy eight year old grandmother was sleeping,snugly wrapped in a warm blanket,in the middle of a particularly harsh winter. At around two am, she heard the sound of keys followed by the sound of our main door opening.My dad was back from a really long day at work. Now we all know how much of a struggle it is to get out of a cozy blanket. Without thinking twice, she threw the blanket off and rushed to greet him. Despite his passionate protests, she walked into the kitchen and boiled milk. Within minutes, a steaming jug of horlicks was in front of my dad.While he gulped it down, she kept fussing over how he wasnt eating enough these days and how he needed to wear more layers to protect himself from the harsh weather. The mother is seventy eight, the son is fifty. But he is still her baby. This is an Indian mother for you.
Posted on: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 01:53:33 +0000
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