I know you don’t read this space very often but still. I know that I’ve been a bad boy, I don’t call you very often. I argue, I fight but I guess that’s how all sons are. Work has been tough and compounded to that living alone doesn’t help either. I want to run away from work, servers, conference calls, meetings, cooking, cleaning, and just about everything. I want to run into your outstretched arms at the airport, sleep on your lap while we watch the 9-O-clock news, drown in the aroma of your sambar and gobble up a dozen of your pooris.

I close my eyes and see your white fluffy idlis begging to be eaten,  hear the crackle of your crisp dosas, smell the invigorating flavor of your rasam and feel your upma melt in my mouth. It’s a sign and I know someone’s calling me, and it’s none other than you. So here I disappear form the radar, and dart towards the airport, void of any worries or pressure. Forget the servers, forget the conference calls, forget the meetings, for all I can think of is to sink into your arms. Peace is what I seek and there is no other place in the whole wide world, more peaceful than a mothers hug. Everything can take a back seat for a fortnight because amma, I’m coming home!

luv,
max.

Click here to view the embedded video.

PS: Folks around sambarland, drop a comment if you wanna meetup.

If you enjoyed this post, then you may also like:

• Another birthday gone…….
• Ah finally…….
• Giving thanks: An award and a tag
• Nonsencical Updates