I grew up in Hyderabad; my name is Sai. This is my first story, so guys, please support me. My father was a mild-mannered man who worked in a mill. He had one addiction: he drank heavily, and many a night he would pass out and had to be helped to bed.
He was good to my mother, and I could see that she respected and loved him. But I sensed there was also sadness in her, and at that time I could not understand why. I helped mother out at every opportunity. I had a crush on her, and this way it kept me close to her. Mother always looked up to me for help.
I was constantly chatting her up; I could see that she appreciated this as it helped to break the boredom of her day. Dad would go to work in the morning, and the next time we saw him was late at night when he would come home tired, after which he would proceed to drink heavily.
It seemed to me that the spark had gone out of their marriage. Most of the time, he seemed either preoccupied with making ends meet or with drinking; this, I believe, led him to neglect Mother. Don’t get me wrong, Dad still loved Mother.
They still laughed, joked, and kidded each other, but the romance that characterized the earlier part of the marriage was rare. I worked part-time as a taxi driver to make extra money to supplement our family income; this left me very little time to socialize.
There were good days and bad days. After the rest of the family had gone to bed had gone to bed, mother and I would sit by the kitchen table and talk. I knew mother appreciated this gesture. As years went by, we grew very close. She would constantly hug me and remind me that I was the beacon of light in her life.
I was very mature for my age, knowledgeable beyond my years. When I was twenty, I began to notice Amma in a different light. I was growing aware sexually, and with that came the realization that mother was very sexy. She had long dark hair that reached to her hips.
And even having birthed three children, she had a killer figure- 36-24-36. Her eyes were very dark and twinkled in good humor. How close were we? Well, we talked about everything, even personal secrets. I talked of the movie stars I liked and disliked, and she talked of her past before she married Father.
She talked wistfully of those carefree days of her youth, of things that could have been. She never regretted her marriage as it produced some of the important things in her life- her husband and her children. With my awareness of mother as a desirable woman,
I began to seek out her hugs and kisses. I began to pay her compliments on her looks, at which she would blush. I began to bring sweets and flowers for her every day when I came home from working at the grocery store
. I began a routine where every Sunday evening I would take her to the movies and hotel. At the movies, I would innocently lean against her or hold her hands. Pretty soon I started putting my arm around her shoulders,s at which she would lean back and rest her head against my shoulders.
I knew that she looked forward to our weekends together because she would try to pick a movie well in advance. After the movies, we would go and sit in a park near the theater. From here one could look at the whole town. We would talk, laugh, and josh one another. “Sai”, she said one day, “I think we should start looking for a girl for you. You are going to be 21 soon”.
“Amma,” I said blindly without thinking much of the consequences. “I do not want to get married. I want to be with you always”. She pulled her head back in surprise, looked at me, and then looked away, silent. “Amma, did I say something to alarm you”
“I think we should leave,” she said after a long interval of silence. Mentally, I cursed myself for saying what I had said, but knew that now the cat was out of the bag there was no turning back. I decided to go for broke.
“Amma,” I said, “I am sorry if I offended you, but you know I have a good head on my shoulders and am wise beyond my years. But don’t hate me for saying that I am in love with you and I will do anything to make you happy”. The silence continued for some time, and then she looked at me sadly. “Sai, it’s not your fault but mine. I should not have let it continue, but I guess I was lonely.” “Amma,” I said, “I wish it hadn’t happened, but since it has, I am glad to be in love with you”.
“My darling boy, you are my son,” she retorted, “these things don’t happen between a mother and son, and besides, I am a married woman”. “Amma,” I replied in desperation, “what is done is done. I can’t take my love back, but will you give at least some serious consideration to what I just said?”
She was silent for a long time. She was crying. My heart went out to her. I pulled her to my chest and held her. “Sai,” she whispered. “I think we should be heading home.” Things cooled down very much after that. Even though I pleaded with her, she would not let me take her out on Sundays, telling me instead that I should go with someone of my very own age. I could see that it was killing her as much as it was killing me.
As days passed, she seemed sad and withdrawn. This went on for a month. Father noticed the change and asked her why she didn’t go out to the movies with me anymore. Amma shook her head and asked Father why he didn’t take her out. “You know, Kamal, I work every day of the week,k and Sunday is my only day off. On that day I prefer to stay and relax at home,” he replied. He was drunk as usual.
After which a big verbal fight ensued, that ended with Amma exiting to the bedroom and slamming the door shut. That Tuesday, when my father, my brother, and sister were out of the house,e I asked her out again. To my surprise, she quietly nodded her head in assent. I went and hugged and she put her head on my shoulders. I hugged her tightly, indicating to her that with her assent the tone of our relationship had changed.
