There could be hundred nice things about me as a mother but those few seconds of yelling at my son can bring the hundred things down – not necessarily to anyone else, but to myself. I know I cannot justify my action, passing the blame on circumstances. I know it can never be a good feeling after the yelling session concludes. I know, first of all, that yelling at him isn’t going to help him in getting better at anything. I know it isn’t a decent way of parenting. I know, in time, my son might begin to hate me for my behaviour. I know he’s learning to yell, as well, watching me. I know, after all at the end of the day that what would remain with me is only guilt. I know it all, half from self-realization and half from the father’s constant requests, demands and gyans. Indeed, I have largely turned off yelling at my son in the recent days. To get rid of yelling, is not only relieving; it is also a great peace booster for the family. At the end of the day, when I watch his serene sleeping face, I rest now with a feeling of triumph.
“Sorry ma,” he said, with an apprehension of whether his sorry would get accepted. In a moment’s time, I came back to my calm-self. Waiting for this signal from me, he jumped onto my lap and hugged me tight. “I will be a good boy,” his voice echoed into my ears. What magic in this warmth!