"A strange thought struck in me," said Radha. Then I started chatting with my pickle jar, sitting on my countertop and looking as impatient as I'm:
Me: waiting for my children to pick the career they want, so that I’ll know what kind of future they’ll have.
Pickle jar: waiting for one my children to come home and eat me up.
Me: waiting for my children to marry with their boyfriend/girlfriend, so that I can finish some of my motherly responsibilities.
Pickle jar: waiting for my children to come home and find me still waiting.
Me: waiting for my children to settle down, so that they could take their belonging to their own place.
Pickle jar: rotten but still waiting…
Me: waiting for my children to sort out what they want to keep, so that I could give away the things they don’t want.
Pickle jar: can’t wait any longer; I’m out of here and in the garbage now!
Me: still waiting for my children to come home and give me some good news…
Radha tosses the pickle jar into the garbage and goes for a long walk.
The end.
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