An Apple

I was to write on it a long time back. But I just checked this back today (February 20, 2009) and I find that all I ever wrote was the sentence, “Today I reached home late and I found…). I never got to finish that sentence. I don’t know what urgent work came up or what mugged my thoughts.

But I remember what I wanted to write. Every evening I reached home, I saw an apple on my bedside table. This touched me so much that I wanted to cry. This went on for many days. Karma wasn’t home. It was just my mother, my nephew, my niece and me at home. Since I had to walk home from town, I reached home a little late. And every evening I got home, there was an apple. How can you not help but be so flatly bitten by such kindness?

It must be an act of all mothers but by God, it is hard for me to take it as natural and not feel touched. She could have taken the apple herself. But she kept the best for me. The big, red, nice apple. And I think I did cry. I was consumed in the appreciation, in the vastness of the unconditional love parents extended towards their children. And I wondered if I would ever be able to harbor such big love.


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