Ailung Avennoho Phom
During my college days, I used to walk few kilometers everyday to reach my destination. The road were all pothole ‘dusty in the sunny and muddy in the rainy’. In the hot summer days as I walked on this sleepy lonely road, it remind me of the famous phrase “The sun never set on the British Empire” so as my way to college where the sun never cast a shadow of mercy. As concern as everybody else, there was a little devil of insecurity that tells me to be little mindful about my unfair face to avoid from sunburned. In the hope of sheltering the face, I had forgotten something to cover-up to escape the so-called sunburn. Yeah! My skinny-bone hand. Hated that dark-reddish hand toasted by free falling Dimapur sun.
In the hour of displeasure of my own hand, emerged a sense of empathy to that “SOMEBODY’S HAND”. The hand made of iron? Little angel whispered, No! The hand ‘as soft as cotton’ and ‘as fair as morning dew’ had turned into iron-like for you. This hand was no ordinary hand. It’s palm surface was rough and hard, mark of spike in and out, cuts and scars and nails like Himalayas mountain range with no equal height. The hand that withstand the cold of ice and hot of burning hell. No matter how that “SOMEBODY’S HAND” looked like it always remained a happy hand because at the end of the day, this hand had accomplished the task and makes somebody’s life meaningful and profound. That “SOMEBODY’S HAND”,
Hand that held you tight when you began to take your first step.
Hand that wept your tears when you cry.
Hand that bring you to sleep by tapping softly on your back.
Hand that clothed you when you can’t even clothed yourself.
Hand that was the ‘first aid’ God has ever created.
Hand that place on your head in time of prayer.
Hand that clap first on your achievements.
Hand that cook the best.
Hand that taught you to write the first alphabet letter A B C…
Hand of knowledge and wisdom.
Hand that was, is and will always be a loving hand.
That SOMEBODY’S HAND is MY MOTHER’S HAND. Happy mother’s day.
