The Key to Happiness #WriteAPageADay
I look at my watch. Oh, it's quarter to 8, and I must return home in 15 minutes. She will be back by then but does not have the keys. The traffic at this hour is unimaginably high. There is a long queue of vehicles ahead. Still, I insist the auto driver make it fast, much to his annoyance. Why did I have to go to the event today? Couldn't I have declined? Where will she go now if I don't reach on time? I can feel a sudden streak of fear, and my overthinking self starts to think of every worst scenario possible. I start cursing myself.

The moment I received the invitation, I was elated. After almost 5 years, I am being invited after taking a break from my work. My excitement was legitimate. It was a matter of 3 hours only, but I underestimated Mumbai traffic during the evenings. And the overenthusiastic me drained my phone battery by taking innumerable pictures and selfies. My recklessness knows no bounds. Meeting people at work after such a long time overwhelmed me. And so, here I am, stuck between a swarm of vehicles- big, small, gigantic, emitting poison everywhere. I should have worn a mask for my own good. That is still ok, but what about this? How can I get home on time? I wish I had superpowers! Or the auto driver suddenly turns into a Formula 1 Racer, leads through the traffic, and makes it on time.
When these "could be's" and "should be's" in my mind stop lamenting, the roar of the blame game starts resurfacing. Why did he have to travel today? Can't he take a single day off and be with her! Just a single day, can't I get for myself! Or is it all my fault! I could have said no, I knew he is out of station. What kind of mother am I! I am at fault. I am the one to blame.
I look into the watch, and it's 8:45 pm. Really, I have been talking to myself for such a long time! What is she doing now! She must be sitting on the stairs, waiting for me. I don't know, what can she do, she is just 9. I feel like jumping out of the auto, but it is running fast now. I estimate it will be 10 minutes more. And rightly, within a few minutes, I reach home. I can imagine her teary eyes, angry face and the moments of silence that will last the whole night. That's how she punishes me.
I reach my doorstep, and her shoes are outside. I can hear movements inside. Is he back, and are they both inside! I open the door with the keys and enter inside. She is sitting on the couch watching cartoons and munching on chocolates. I feel guilty, and I look at her with a forever face of sorrow. She runs to the kitchen and gets me a glass of water. "Here, mummy, you must be tired."
I look into her face. There is no trace of sadness or anger. "You must be hungry, I have made sandwiches for us. Let's have together." I hug her, smiling and giggling.
"How did you enter? I do not remember giving the spare keys to you." I was surprised. "Oh, mummy, you also do not remember giving the keys to the aunty next door last month. But I remembered, and I took the keys from her."
I again hugged her, my little girl, all grown up, responsible and caring.
" I am not a bad mother after all." I say, " You are the best, mummy. Now let's eat."
This blog post is a part of #WriteApageADay from Blogchatter
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