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Maa Because Angels Do Exist


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© Copyright, 2018, Darshana Mishra

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Printed in India


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Maa Because Angels Do Exist

- BY -

Darshana Mishra

EDUCREATION PUBLISHING (Since 2011)

www.educreation.in


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To My Parents


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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I would like to thank my parents Mr. Dilip Mishra

& Mrs. Nandini Mishra for blessing me with this

beautiful life and all its colours.

I would also like to thank Dr. Nikhil

Chandwani without whom this journey would not

have been possible. I would also like to thank all the

wonderful people of my life who have always been

a source of motivation for me.

Friends, love and family that is all where my

world ends with and this book is dedicated to all of

them.


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PROLOGUE

The story is about a woman, who is a lover, a wife,

a mother, a friend, a daughter, and an angel. She has

laughed, cried, loved, died and lived. Throughout

the endless journey of obstacles coming her way to

a normal and happy life, she never stopped fighting

and the only thing which held her strong was her

love. The love of her life, her better half, her

husband. And they always held on to their little

piece of “forever” together.

The story is about a man who could be an

inspiration to people who end up falling out of love,

and about a special bond between a father and a

daughter.

The story is about a daughter who has always

seen her mother as a warrior and as an angel

throughout the journey of her life and inspires her to

be one forever.

The story is also about a woman who is

motivated to break off from the notions of physical

appearance as the only measure of her beauty. The

marks on her body cannot be the measure of her

soul.


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She is boundless and infinite like the universe.

She is meant to let her soul be free out of the society

cages and realize that the real beauty lies within the

heart.


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Maa - Because Angels Do Exist

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THE HIDDEN MARKS

She was standing there in front of me, while my

friends were sitting in the hall. I came to her

running because they wanted to meet her. But I

couldn‟t sense through her body language that she

was interested in moving out of that room. Shiny

yet dark skin wrapped in a coffee coloured sari

there stood my mother trying to hide her marks. I

remember the days when she used to eagerly wait

for my friends to come home, she used to ask them

questions about school, teachers, and food. It was a

never ending trail of stories for her. And today she

was afraid. Afraid because she thought they would

make fun of her.

She never liked those pity eyes when people

looked at her. Some people looked at her and felt

sad, some looked at her and gave full credit of her

condition to the trauma she faced. Some talked to

her about the days she used to look beautiful and

that made her sadder. I saw each day the sadness in

her eyes, the way she used to look at herself in the

mirror. I saw the eagerness she had to get ready to

buy saris for her, for festivals and functions, but it

was accompanied by the sadness on her face when

she used to look at the mirror when she got ready.

I remember the days when we used to have a

camera. Those days we used to have those classic

Kodak film cameras. As kids we used to make rolls


Darshana Mishra

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and play with the spoilt “negatives”, as they called

them. We used to click a lot of pictures. Me, my

father and my mother. I was fond of clicking their

pictures. And today she gets afraid by the sight of a

camera being turned on. Every time we try clicking

a photograph of her she keeps her hand on her face.

Trying to hide it all.

She never really understood that she was still

the most beautiful person on earth for me. “Sick”

was only a word, but her attitude added meaning to

it.



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THE KID WHO LIVED

“Anu!!! Where is she? Is she busy with

something?” The questions thrown at my face

brought me back to reality where my friends were

eagerly waiting for her to come out.

“She is busy with grandma,” I said. To which

my friends got up as they were about to leave. After

a few informal goodbye gestures they left from my

home.

”Yes she is busy somewhere. Busy fighting with

her own inferiorities, her confusions, identity issues.

She is busy fighting with herself each day,” though I

had answers to my friends‟ questions, yet I chose to

remain silent.

Maa belonged to a very simple family before

she was married to dad. She used to tell me stories

about her childhood. How grandma and grandpa

managed a simple living with 6 children. Her

youngest sibling passed away when she was a kid.

And since then she was the youngest amongst two

elder brothers and two elder sisters. She was the

most beloved kid for grandpa. Being the most

beloved kid she got the leverage of doing things her

own way. Not that the other kids never got a

chance, since grandpa was a very open minded

person, but her other siblings never utilised the

opportunities the way she did.


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She was very good at sports in those days. A

district and state player in badminton. Not just one

sport, she was also very good at other sports. She

used to take part in marathons, cycling races, used

to travel various cities for the same. Grandpa used

to tell us that she was the most notorious yet the

most confident kid amongst all his children. She

always had this zeal for learning new things, doing

new things and she used to enjoy it.

And today I see her hiding herself in the

curtains. Hiding her face every time she walks out

of the house, trying not to catch people‟s eyes. I

wonder how the girl who used to travel cities on her

own alone turned to the woman who avoids walking

out of the door without her husband and without

herself covered with those ugly clothes trying to

hide the beauty of her heart.

She was a simple yet beautiful girl. She used to

love herself. She used to love grooming herself.

Grandpa was very good at stitching dresses in those

old days. Not as a profession, but as a hobby. Every

time he got back from his office Maa used to bring

him designs or photographs of women in dresses in

catalogues and used to bring him the clothes

unstitched and grandpa used to make an exactly

same copy of that dress for her. And she used to

dance and flaunt her dresses to all her friends.

She also loved experimenting with her hair.

She had beautiful long tresses. When I was a young

kid she used to show me pictures of herself all

dolled up in various costumes and varied hairstyles.

I still have feeble memories of that black and white



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picture album hidden in grandpa‟s cupboard, which

she used to show me.

She got her first job when she was too young.

For a family of 5 children and grandpa being the

only one earning this was a great achievement for

her as well as the entire family. Though her eldest

brother was also earning yet he used to live away

from the family. She never told us the story. It was

something like a family secret back then. Nobody

talked about the cold war between uncle and

Grandpa.

She was very happy with her job. After a year

of hard work she was able to financial support

Grandpa. By then younger uncle and aunt also got

jobs. One evening Maa was busy working in her

office when she saw someone looking out for

directions and instructions to head to the right place.

She tried to look out what was the matter, when she

saw a young boy entering the office space.

In small towns like ours all government offices

looked very similar. The offices back then did not

have air conditioners though coolers were used but

only during summers. The offices had people who

loved to talk to each other both during work hours

as well as lunch times. Those days there were no

mobile phones and surprisingly people seemed

more connected to each other than today in the era

of watsapps and facebooks.


Darshana Mishra

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THE BOY IN BLUE

The small space of the government office helped

her to look through the young man standing in front

of her looking for instructions. The young man was

dressed up in a blue coloured shirt and black

trousers. He was discussing something with Sharda

kaka, the peon standing outside. After sometime the

young man headed towards the SE‟s office cabin.

She asked Sharda kaka for a cup of tea since it was

4pm. As Sharda kaka came with a hot cup of tea she

asked him about the young man to which he replied,

“Seems like a new recruit, he came up looking for

the SE‟s office. He had also brought the papers for

the recruitment or I think some transfer letters, for

the vacancies in our office. Sir won‟t approve of

him. He is too young for the job. Ask me, I have

seen this office and the way they recruit people for

the past 25 years,” kaka replied with the paan in his

mouth. Paan is a very famous eatable combining

betel leaf with refreshments and sometimes tobacco

used as a refreshment especially by the men in

India. Kaka had an old habit of chewing 4-5 paans

each day since years.

The reply by kaka made her more anxious

about the young man in the cabin inside. She was



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having sips of the tea brought by kaka but with sip

of the hot tea she became more anxious of the

conversation taking place inside the Senior

Executive‟s cabin. After 25 minutes the SE rang a

bell. The bell was a signal of Kaka to rush to his

cabin. Kaka, who was busy chatting with the other

staff members rushed to his cabin. This made Maa

more anxious to know what was happening.

Suddenly she saw the young man in the blue shirt

briskly move outside the cabin with a sheet of paper

in his hand and huge satisfaction on his face. Well

that‟s what she saw because she never saw his face

clearly. Kaka also followed him and then she heard

him telling to the others that he would be joining the

office from the next day.

That night the only thing she thought about,

was the man in the blue shirt. She wanted to know

the reason for that man to join that office. There

was something in that man which made her curious.

What happened in that cabin? Who was he? Why

did he need the job? Kaka said he was too young

yet the head appointed him, what was so good about

that man? The satisfaction on his face when he got

the job spoke some hidden story. What was that

story? Lot of questions fiddled through her mind.

And all answers lied in the next day. She slept with

those questions hidden in her eyes.


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