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Life is trying, with loads of isolation and of course sympathy. “Mother , please I don’t want to get this damn thing otherwise I will miss my football,” says the 12-year-old.

The sweet sixteen, on the threshold of his exams, made another wisecrack. “Much as this would be a splendid excuse for not

studying I would rather give it a miss.” And Ms. Twenty was standoffish. “How the hell did you get this? I would not wish it on anybody.”

The line through which kind words flowed was busy, but no face ever turned up to see me. “I know it’s of nuisance value and I would have definitely come but I have grand children to tend to,” said a friend. “I understand,” I replied weakly, the eye dripping a sticky drop.

And back in isolation where TV, books and phones have outlived their role called my ever loving mother. “Mother I feel so unloved with this inflammation of the eye,” I said using high sounding words for self importance.

“Baccha, you eat well and keep your spirits high. Think of those who are really unloved, the loveless marriages, the orphaned child, the struggling spinster, the young widower, members of the Lonely Hearts Club.

Here you have all of us who love you except that this contagious eye disease will spoil every one’s happiness if they get it. Cheer up, this too shall pass.” As I placed the phone down I thought of how Mother always had a way of making you feel better and loved. The Girl Guides’ motto also flashed... ‘Never give in’. ‘The Secret Revealed,’ a book I had just read came alive. Be positive. Train your mind for things to happen.

And then I heard something. I heard excited voices outside the door. Had the children heard my ravings? I got up and put on my Long John silver eye patch, opening the door in a rather dramatic slow motion and said, “Yes?” The kids stood there not backing away from my third eye, the patch.

They had a bunch of red roses in their hands. “The courier service just delivered this. It says ‘Anonymous’. Mother who can it be? Who has sent you red roses?”

I said I knew giving the very all important look, thankful for some attention. Who mother who? chorused the trio. I looked round and took my time and said I know who has sent me this.

“Cupid, the God of Love. I just invoked him and he has sent me the red roses.” The children’s eyes grew round but they knew better. “Yes, red roses for red eyes,” said Twelve, giggling. Sixteen was unimpressey of course said, “It can be granny or dad but not Cupid, mother please.” But by then Frank Sinatra was already singing.... strangers in the night.... your eyes were so inviting....”

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