Instead I remember the other woman in my life; how incessantly she would fuss over my skipped meals, how she mouthed I love you whilst I stood on podium addressing a hall full of luminaries, how drowsily she would wish me at exact midnight.
I blink back the tears furiously, remembering with vain nostalgia, that untouched food when I stayed out late, that mild plea to answer her calls and the silent concession; I never bothered.
As I stand at the altar, my heart is sobbing in her arms, grieving at his loss-his best friend.
I whisper the words coarsely, the hall erupts in thunderous applause and my heart sings :
my mother is my poem - Agha Shahid Ali.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.