.. And those were times when I used to write a poem for Ma on Mothers’ Day. But through the thicks and thins, through the hour long phone calls, through the teenage angst and confusion, through the responsibility of being a wife and daughter in law, through the small joys of small success, frustration of things not working out the way I wanted them to, and the sheer euphoria that I seem to live in on most days, through the mutton curry, oats and sprouts, Ma, there is nothing you don’t know anymore. There has not been a day when your voice of reason has not seen me through the small obstacles and everyday cheer. You know I love you. Saying it makes it sound less important than it really is to me, this bond I have with you. I may not write a poem for you today, I don’t seem to know how to. But you, Ma, are my rockstar.