When you cross a certain age, a mother-daughter relationship becomes much like the one in the picture. Two people looking out at life, both having lived it enough to be able to share the had-beens more than the what-could-bes.
As I open the cupboard I see a green skirt. It has an interesting genesis. A couple of weeks ago she was wearing this chikan-work kurta, a beautiful henna green. I loved it and said so. We cannot share clothes because we are built differently.
A day later, folded on my bed was what I thought was the kurta. I unfurled it and found to my amazement that she had cut the top portion at the yoke, inserted an elastic band and transformed it into a skirt I could wear.
I held it close to my face before slipping it on. Several detergent washes may have taken away the scent of a mother, but every stitch on it reminds me that we are connected by a thread that is beautiful and strong at the same time.
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This was written in 2007 elsewhere, and the green skirt has been replaced with a yellow one from her lot...
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She gave me a little note today (okay, and four bars of chocolate too) and I said, "But it is Mother's Day."
"Yes, but you made me a mother."