I imagine her shy, soft spoken and warm. Her eyes gentle behind bushy eyebrows. Her saree wrapped casually, busy frying treats for her son. Other times, I imagine her chuckling, heartily enjoying the rented movies playing on our tiny TV screen. I imagine her enjoying a softy cone in bright daylight her son by her side a smile playing on his lips. I imagine her sitting with pride in the passenger seat on the front row watching her baby drive her to places she had not dreamed of. I watch her in my mind offering prayers to God. Earnest and heartfelt.
I imagine her palm on my head blessing me, sharing with me her first born. I imagine her walking with me side by side sharing insider jokes and forming a front against the menfolk of the house. I imagine her taking me to task for not letting her do all the work in the kitchen. I imagine the warmth and the love. I imagine the shared kinship. I imagine one another mother to call up every week.
Sometimes, I think I really do know her. Maybe I do.