My mother made the world’s roundest rotis. Not kidding. Perfect circles, puffed up like little suns.
I hated them.
Not the rotis. I hated that she thought that was her only job. To feed me. To wait for me. To live her entire life between the kitchen and the main door.
I was 23, a UPSC aspirant in Delhi. Mukherjee Nagar. 8x10 room, 3 roommates, 1 dream. To become an IAS. To make her proud. To finally give her a life beyond those rotis.
**The 4 AM Calls**
Every morning, 4:00 AM sharp, my phone would ring. No “Good morning”. No “Beta”. Just one line.
“Roti kha lena, garam hai. Tiffin mein daal di.”
She’d wake up at 3:30 AM just to make my tiffin. Then travel 2 hours by bus from our village to Delhi, leave it with the guard, and go back. 3 days a week. For 2 years.
I was embarrassed. My friends called it “Mummy’s Hotel Service”. I told her to stop. She never did.
“Jab tu IAS ban jayega na, tab ruk jaungi,” she’d say.
**The Fight**
Prelims 2024. I failed. By 2 marks.
I called home, frustrated. She picked up on the first ring, like she was waiting.
“Beta? Ho gaya clear?”
I exploded. “Nahi hua! Kya kar logi jaan ke? Tumhari roti se UPSC nahi nikalta!”
Silence. Then a soft, “Khana kha liya?”
I cut the call.
That was May. She stopped coming to Delhi. No more 4 AM calls. No more tiffin. I thought she was finally angry. Good. Maybe she’ll live for herself now.
**The Neighbor’s Call**
October 2024. Mains exam week. I was buried in books. 11:47 PM, unknown number.
“Arjun beta? Main Sharma aunty bol rahi hoon. Tere ghar ke bagal wali.”
My heart dropped. “Haan aunty? Sab theek?”
“Maa ko... maa ko hospital mein admit kiya hai. 3 din se. Tujhe pareshan nahi karna chahti thi. Exam hai na tera.”
Stage 3 cancer. She’d known for 6 months. Hid it so I wouldn’t quit UPSC. Sold her gold bangles to pay my coaching fees. The same bangles she wore while making those “useless” rotis.
I took the first bus. 14 hours. Didn’t open a book.
**The Hospital Shayari**
ICU. She was weak. But her eyes found me and smiled. First thing she asked the nurse: “Mere bete ke liye roti?”
I broke down. “Maa, I’m so sorry. Main bahut ganda beta hoon.”
She held my hand. Her hands, burnt from years of making rotis on the chulha, felt like the safest place in the world.
She whispered. Not a lecture. A shayari. Her first and last.
<blockquote>
Maine zindagi bhar gol roti banayi,<br>
Socha tera future bhi gol ho jaye.<br>
Tujhe IAS ki kursi par dekhu,<br>
Meri tapti zindagi cool ho jaye.<br><br>
Tu kehta tha “roti se kya hoga”,<br>
Beta, roti se hi ghar banta hai.<br>
Mere jaane ke baad bhi,<br>
Meri roti tujhko palti rahegi.<br><br>
UPSC nahi toh kya hua,<br>
Tu insaan toh ban gaya.<br>
Meri har dua, har nivala,<br>
Aaj tujh mein sama gaya.<br><br>
Ab ja. Exam de. Rona nahi.<br>
Teri maa ki roti hamesha garam milegi.<br>
Chahe main rahoon na rahoon,<br>
Tere tiffin mein meri mamta rahegi.
</blockquote>
That night, she left. 2:17 AM. I didn’t get to serve her water. She spent her life serving me roti.
**The Phone Call I Regret**
I didn’t give Mains. Couldn’t.
6 months later, I’m home. I cleared State PCS. Not IAS, but I’m a government officer now. First posting: my own district.
Every morning, 4:00 AM, my phone alarm rings. No one’s on the other side. But I still wake up and say, “Haan maa, utha gaya. Roti kha lunga.”
My wife laughs. She says I talk to the ceiling. I don’t. I talk to the kitchen. Where I now try to make round rotis. They’re terrible. All corners, no circle.
But every time I burn one, I remember her line: “UPSC nahi toh kya hua, tu insaan toh ban gaya.”
**The Last Roti**
Last week, I found her steel tiffin. Cleaned it. Put a fresh roti in it. Took it to an old man sleeping outside the station. He didn’t ask my rank. He just said, “Bhagwan bhala kare, sahib.”
He ate it like it was the first meal of his life.
I cried. Not because I miss her. I do. Every second. But because I finally understood — she never wanted me to be IAS. She just wanted me to never let anyone sleep hungry.
So here’s my shayari, Maa. For you.
<blockquote>
Teri roti gol thi, meri kismat tedhi,<br>
Tu chali gayi, chhod gayi yaadon ki bedhi.<br><br>
Maine kursi toh paa li, par tu nahi mili,<br>
Har report pe sign karoon, par teri “thali” nahi mili.<br><br>
Log kehte hain “Sahib”, tu kehti thi “Beta”,<br>
Tere bina ye daulat bhi lagti hai “leta”.<br><br>
Ab main roz ek roti extra banata hoon,<br>
Kisi bhookhe ko khilata hoon, aur tujhe jatata hoon —<br>
“Teri siksha UPSC se badi thi, Maa.<br>
Tu IAS nahi, Bhagwan ban gayi thi, Maa.”
</blockquote>
**The End**
If your mom calls you today, pick up. If she makes roti, eat it. If she fights, let her win.
Because one day, your phone will ring at 4 AM. And there will be no one on the other side.
Just a memory. Of the world’s roundest roti. And the world’s biggest heart.
Call her. Now.