Waiting at the Wings

Commonwealth essay: Tell us about a woman who has been an agent of change in your community or country



Waiting at the wings



She breathes slowly and softly, unaware of the kind pair of eyes staring at her, unaware that the owner of these eyes had given her something extremely precious, something called….life.

She breathes slowly and softly, unaware of the beautiful voice singing her to sleep, unaware that this voice belongs to someone she will later address as….mother.



As I watch a frail and fragile mother cradle her newborn baby, her eyes gleaming with joy, with hope and with determination as she comes in terms with her newfound responsibility of nurturing the future of our country, certain questions poke my conscience.

What was my first memory?

My first spoken word?

My first love? 

And only one word comes to my mind.

She is ‘Ma’ to some, ‘mom’ to others. ‘Mummy’ to some and ‘Okasan’ to the rest, but no matter how you address her, the sentiments attached to it remain the same. Nothing creates a better sense of peace, love and security than the word…..Mother.



She repeats her As and Bs after her mother, unaware that her mother was teaching her the power of letters, the power of education, unaware that her mother was presenting her with the gift of knowledge.

She repeats her As and Bs after her mother, unaware that when she grows up and unwraps the gift of knowledge she will become a ‘resource’ for the country , unaware that her mother was selflessly nurturing her for the betterment of the nation.



I have a hazy memory of holding my mother’s finger possessively and learning how to walk. This very same finger had helped me waltz through the difficulties of life, until one day the finger was withdrawn and replaced with a gentle push, which made me come face to face with the harsh, cruel world.  A world so emotionless and materialistic that I was sure of my defeat in the battle of life. I walked, wobbled and fell but my mother helped me get up. Unknown to me, my mother had taught me the art of finding the better in the worst given me the courage to face the fiercest storm and passed onto me a rare talent called rational thinking. The brutalities of the world now seemed like thorns in a rose, which could be plucked away easily. I can never give her back the sleeps she sacrificed, the encouragement and the unwavering trust she provided me with just to make me a good human, a responsible citizen, an educated woman.



She yells and shouts and raves, unaware of how patiently her mother was suffering through her rebellious stages, unaware of how deeply hurting were her thoughtless words.

She yells and shouts and raves, unaware of the sacrifices made by her mother, unaware of the disappointment she was becoming to her mother.



I remember my mother spanking me for even the tiniest mistake I made. Ironically, when I shouted for help while being spanked, the only word that came out of my mouth was ‘Ma’ and never ‘Baba’ or ‘Sister’. Now that I think of it, I realize that the incident had a deeper meaning to it. I always ran for help to my mother, I always called out ‘Ma’ when I was scared, I always asked mother to do me some favour. The solution to all problems, the key to every lock was, inevitably, Ma.

Through my teenage years, all I did was defy and argue. My mother used to make me study, scold me for petty thefts, ground me for telling lies and practiced solitary confinement when I behaved rudely. I never quite understood her extremist policies. However, today I do. As I was forced to study back then I, today, sit on a plush chair making policies for the country as a civil servant. She always showed me the right path but the decision of traveling on that road was left to me. She had faith in my opinions and respected the decisions I made.



She hates the paparazzi, the flashes of camera and the intellectual conferences, unaware that the clicks of the camera were the only source of relief for her mother, unaware of the sleepless nights her mother spent thinking about her well-being.

She hates the paparazzi, the flashes of camera and the intellectual conferences, unaware of a woman who longs for her company, longs to be by her side, unaware that the huge distance between mother and daughter was only covered by pictures on newspapers.



In Economics, human beings are referred to as ‘human resources’. How very conveniently are we reduced from beings with emotions, feelings and intelligence to mere commodities of profit. Profits based on the invaluable knowledge, education, values and talent, inherited from our mothers.

Increasing GDP, rocketing economy, global recognition, military achievements, who is responsible for our country receiving these accolades? Is it the country? Is it the authorities? Or is it us? The answer is none of us but instead it is our mother .It may sound abstract but our mothers are the ones who have brought about a wave of change in the country. They have built a strong foundation on which stands the powerful building of development.

Often fame and ambition threatens the sanity of a person and they start disregarding those very persons who are responsible for the achievements they are proud of today. Unfortunately, mothers are regular victims of isolation as their children fall into the evil clutches of power, fame and glory.



She looks pretty as a picture, dressed in her red bridal sari, her head decorated with vermillion. However, sadness shrouds her face as she desperately looks for opportunities to reconnect with her lost mother.

She is unaware that her mother suffered the same kind of desperation in her absence, unaware that her mother would have given anything to have a glimpse of her daughter. Unaware that she had the lost the chance to reunite with her mother long ago when she had taken her for granted , unaware that her mother had committed the very same mistake as her when she was young.



I stare at the photograph of my mother and me, kept before me. It is a reminder of the joyful and happy times I had spent with her. It is a reminder of joyful and happy times I yearn to spend with her. What not had she done for me? What not had she done for this country? She provides the country with its labour force; she provides it with educated and responsible citizens, she is the reason behind a healthy and a prosperous country. Then why is that we refuse to recognize her efforts, her hard work? Just because her work is not measured by a few notes imprinted with numbers?  Just because she is not what you will call a ‘salaried employee’? The government turns a blind eye to her efforts by not including her in the working population. She is looked upon as a burden in several families. She is unable to take financial decisions because the strings of the purse lie in her husband’s hands. In the process of caring for her family, she loses her self-respect, her individual identity. Does she really deserve to be subjected to such unjustified torture? Do people have a veil of ignorance where they are unable to distinguish between their mother and a nanny, unable to distinguish between their levels of contribution? Is it that difficult to see that a mother kills her needs and wants just to satisfy the wants of her family?

Several questions remain unanswered. Several doubts continue to persist. In addition, absolutely nobody is willing to entertain them. Lips remained sealed on this sensitive topic because if they open their mouths to clarify the situation the entire world will know what cruel and insensitive devils they are.

  She does not do a 9 to 5 job, she does a lifetime job. Her selfless work and the sweat and blood she drains working for the country is immeasurable. All of us commit the greatest sin of taking our mothers for granted.



The photograph fades away but the memory remains alive and vivid in my mind.



She listens to the baby’s slow, soft and deliberate breathing, holding her like, as if she were a glass doll. She sings to her the lullaby her mother used to sing her to sleep, her eyes moistening as she reminiscences the precious memory.

She is aware of the difficult road ahead, she is aware of the responsibility she has undertaken. She is aware of the duty of helping her little angel spread her wings far and wide, and most importantly, she is aware that her mother was not a human being but god in disguise.



Arigatou ma







Word count: 1458