He's come back after a year... I have actually forgotten the technology needed to clean up his room!

Look, you want to be a good Mom...

Okay, fine, at least a fair-to-middling one – no one’s looking for medals here.

But sometimes that role can get a bit much, causing you to leap nervously at shadows, and collapse in bitter tears if someone drops a steel tumbler.

Remember those words “...and some have greatness thrust upon them...”?

Might have been written with Mothers in mind.

So there you are, tottering unsteadily on that vast pedestal created for the Spirit of Motherhood...hoping no one, least of all your children, will ever find out how hopelessly lost – and clueless – you really are.

But you do it. You work on developing that all-knowing aura, and train your mind and heart to offer unconditional love – which can wear a little thin every now and then, especially when a generous portion of something eminently stain-making is tossed carelessly into your brand-new-outfit lap....but you plod on, smiling bravely, knowing one day, the wings will sprout; the house will empty, and Life – and that last piece of chocolate – will be yours and yours alone.

Yes, the heart aches a bit; tears are shed, especially when favourite meals are cooked but, given connectivity these days, the twinge, always there, of course, is getting more manageable.

And then ....they come back.

Mostly in short spurts of visits.....but....

They. Come. Back.

Now, let’s make sure there is no misunderstanding here.

Of course, you are thrilled to see them; your maternal heart overflows with love, blah blah.....

But...

Well, it starts with the cleaning.

At what point did you become this uber-paranoid creature who longs for a magic all-purpose cleanser that can sanitise everything – from every element in your house to the streets outside, all manner of buildings and transport, the pavements, food everywhere (not just in your kitchen), all water sources, the plants, escalators, theatre seats – the very air we breathe?

Near-psychotic?

Yeah – just a bit.

Then – the menus.

These kids, who once complained that the avakkai pickle wasn’t spicy enough, now blanch at the sight of a single, tiny green chilli, and have eschewed coconut, root vegetables, sugar, rice, flour, wheat, and all things fried – so you’re stumped for variety.

This is particularly tough on those who have reached the ‘retired cooking’ stage and now have to start getting innovative all over again.

Then there’s the noise level. Did you even know that you....uhm...like, reelly, reelly talk loud?

After having been “Shh-ed” for the hundredth time from, ironically, the source that was at the receiving end of ‘shushing” not all that long ago, you, now reduced to a timorous shell of your former self, are scared to even open your mouth.

That goes for TV volume too....apparently we ‘listen too loud’. What does that even mean? For a minute, you are tempted to point out that your life too has suddenly become a lot noisier than what you’ve grown accustomed to – but decide against it.

You can’t add hurt feelings to your list of must-take-care of-s... it’s too exhausting.

Speaking of TV, at what point did you start feeling a little foolish and apologetic about watching your favourite ‘regional mega-serial’ (yes, you read that right) in the presence of those whose own channel choices weren’t exactly intense soul food back in the day when they lounged all over your house?

By the way, did you know your done-for-years ‘isthri’ guy has always ironed clothes all wrong?

Makes you wonder what kind of image you’ve cut all over the city all these years.

This strange re-positioning from ‘kid-about-the-house’ to ‘revered guest’.

When did that happen, you wonder, succumbing to this promising dramatic poignancy for a second, just before real life intrudes. Your ‘guests’ have sprung interesting red splotches all over thanks to the mosquitoes, and need solutions.

Of course, typically, your house decides to extract revenge right about now.

Internet breaks down; something goes wrong with the plumbing; the electricity gets cute and whimsical; the gas cylinder is late...and the kids knife you by being sweet and understanding...or, worse, offer you good advice on handling domestic dust-ups (“...seriously need to get less dependent on household help...”), while you seek out a quiet corner where you can succumb to a fit of why-are-you-doing-this-to-me-I-am-trying-so-hard-to-make-things-perfect.

The ‘Happy Holidays’ are soon over – and your heart crumbles again. You regret those moments of slight touchiness....and admit you’ll desperately miss everything that recently stretched your nerves.

You run into a friend.

She’s just had an ‘event’ in her family. All her kids from all over were down .... she seems to have lost weight, the lucky thing.

You ask her how things are.

“Fine....they all left last night...”, her eyes light up as she breaks into a trembling smile. Then she sees the look on your face, and quickly re-arranges her own to register sorrow.

Too late.

You know.

You know you’ve just spotted yet another member of that very secret, slightly ashamed-of-themselves Club called: ‘How Mothers Really Feel Sometimes (And Must Be Allowed to Do So)’.

You nod gravely, silently expressing sympathy, and she nods back in understanding.

You both slink away, returning to your respective, now-too-quiet, depressing homes, trying to make some sense of your all-too-human contrariness.