You breathe within ‘her’ for nine months. Aren’t mothers great?
Mother’s Day like all others, Children’s Day, Sibling’s Day, Father’s Day and Parent’s Day is reveled once in a year in the honour of all those self-sacrificing mothers. Every year, either of the month of March or May reserves this ‘one’ special day, Mother’s day for ‘mommies’. The United States in 20th century kicked off this fashion of paying tribute to mothers by introducing ‘Mother’s Day’.
Mother’s Day had its inception in 1908, when Anna Jarvis, in the remembrance of her beloved mother, organized an annal at St Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia, which today have the International Mother’s Day Shrine. Ann Reeves Jarvis, the mother of Anna Jarvis left her body in 1905 which triggered off Anna to carry out endeavouring-campaigns to set forth ‘Mother’s Day’ a popular holiday. Oodles of ifs and buts, yeses and noes came as stumbling blocks on her way, but her will culminated in Woodrow Wilson, in 1914, signing the manifesto declaring Mother’s Day a national holiday, to be celebrated on second Sunday of May.
No means of gratitude-conveyance can be paid to this great daughter ‘Anna’ to have given ‘Mothers’ a day, nay, respect, ‘Mother’s Day’. Every other special day meant for lovers, father, parents, children, and so on bear significance in our lives, but mothers are indeed atop all. For, no relation on the planet can match a mother-child relation. One-body-two-souls relationship is not a just a mere saying in case of mothers, yes, for a span of nine months, you and she breathe as ‘one’.
With nine months zooming out, a much-awaited day finally breaks out, the only day when your cries spark a smile on your mother’s face. This is the day when a baby for the first time feels the warm sensation of its mother’s grip on him, a touch that perpetually follows in his baby-to-adult journey. From her caressing hands to her warm lap, you undergo unfathomable protection till you are ready to be on your knees, struggling on the floor and gradually to be on your feet. The toddler, after a so long stay inside the four-box shelter, now takes its first step towards the school. With your mother’s 24*7 working-hands, from packing the cartoon-inscribed tiffin box to tie your shoe-lace, to have your fingers enclosed under her fist while you walk with bag-shouldered body of yours, to shift from a mother to teacher-role, to lend her ears to your petty school-squabbles, and what else not, she by now winds up peeling off your delicacy, throwing you into a new phase.
The phase in which you get a revelatory insight of her is the times when you are in your teens. This new phase unfolds your mother deeper, who guides like a teacher, chills out like a friend and dotes on just like your so-own mother. She patiently embraces all your tantrums with not an inch of wrinkle on her for-head, she silently does a tidy-up for your so called bedroom which is no less than a chaos, she serves her before self without having you a hint on it and don’t-know-what-else to, just to ensure your bliss. With the speeding clock, even that day comes when you yourself get on the verge of to-be-mother or to-be-father, your life takes a new swing, time around you changes but what doesn’t change, doesn’t die is her love.
Some call her’ Mummy’,’ Mumma’, ‘Mommy’,’ Maa’, ‘Omna’, ‘Anya’ while some, ‘Ammi’, ‘Emak’, ‘Mami’, ‘Mum’, ‘Deda’. Call you may whatever, the preciousness of the ‘title’ remains same.