Thank you, mommy writes Twinkle Khanna

Tuesday, 13 May 2014 - 6:20am IST | Place: Mumbai | Agency: DNA

Mother's Day has just gone around the corner and with everyone extolling the virtues of motherhood, every story seems to be about this perfect woman doing splendid things with her children. Mothers do a lot more than feed their children and give them kind hugs, they are also known to embarrass the hell out of their offspring no mater how old we get.

I am 29: Mom and I are going to London for a shoot and after this, mom is going to New York and I am heading home. Everyday mother goes shopping and as I see our tiny room filling up with shopping bags, I start getting a feeling this will not end well. It is the last day, my flight is at 8 pm and mom's flight is 4 hours before mine. I start fretting as to how she will fit all this in her suitcase and she reassures me that I have nothing to worry about; to go to work and she will pack everything for me as well before she leaves.

That evening I rush to my room to pick up my bags only to find no suitcases, just two trunks in my room.

Description of above mentioned trunks: Dented battered aluminum boxes with my name plastered across in massive alphabets and misspelled 'Twinkal Khana' in bright red marker pen. Mommy dearest has taken the two suitcases I had come with to accommodate all the shopping and has packed all my things in the film unit's costume department trunks.

I am 13: I am studying at Panchgani and have been selected to play in the interschool basketball match. Mother has come to see the match as it is a big moment in my life. In the middle of the match she starts yelling from the stands, "Tina! Tina! You are the best!" and when I turn to hear where all this ruckus is coming from, the ball is thrown my way, smacks me on the head and I fall down flat on the court.

I am 37: My mother decides to call my entire family over for dinner, husband, in-laws, cousins and all and then proceeds to talk about how fat I was as a child, how I got stuck in a bucket while trying to have a bath, how I used to eat mangoes on the pot and how she had to buy clothes for a 14-year-old when I was just seven.

I am 18: Mother has read a book on some colour therapy diet by Linda Clark and decided that I must follow this innovative weight loss programme which consists of eating only red and orange colored fruits, drinking solarised water in red bottles and sitting in front of an infrared light for 15 minutes everyday. End result after two weeks: I have gained three pounds and have a burn mark on my stomach from the infrared light toppling and falling on me.

Mothers are not just these band-aid dispensing, cupcake-making robots that we seem to hold in high esteem. They are funny, sometimes wacky, a little eccentric and fallibly human.
I have the fortune of having a mother who has a heart larger than the population of India. She has a particular brand of beauty that does not diminish with age because it comes as much from her spirit as from her bone structure. Yes she drives me crazy at times but she also loves me with that same passion.
I can't count the number of times when I have fallen and she has been around to make sure I land on my well-padded bottom and not on my head; because that's what mothers do, they let you find your own path but try to make the road as smooth as possible. Thank you mommy, I would not be half the woman I am if you were not the woman you are.

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