Her mother had a cupboard full of towels nobody was allowed to use.
White ones for guests.
Blue ones for “important people.”
And two soft yellow towels that had apparently been waiting for her daughter to come home from somewhere for the last fifteen years.
“Amma, use them,” she said once.
“For what?”
“For us.”
Her mother shook her head.
“You will come one day and need them.”
Her daughter laughed.
She lived forty minutes away.
She came every few weeks.
Still, the towels remained folded.
Her son grew up.
His school bag became a college bag. Then a laptop bag. His mother kept saying, “Take the good towel,” whenever he stayed overnight.
He always took the old brown one instead.
“This one is fine.”
“That one is for you.”
“I know.”
He never asked why.
Years later, on a rainy evening, her daughter arrived unexpectedly with two suitcases.
“What happened?” her mother asked.
“Nothing.”
She put one suitcase down.
“I just thought I would stay for a few days.”
Her mother didn’t ask another question.
She went to the cupboard.
The yellow towels came out first.
“Amma.”
“Hmm?”
“Those are still there?”
Her mother looked at the towels.
“Of course.”
Her daughter touched one.
It was softer than she remembered.
That night, after dinner, she found her mother in the kitchen folding the same old brown towel.
“Why didn’t you give me the yellow one?”
Her mother looked surprised.
“You didn’t ask.”
She laughed.
“I thought it was for important people.”
Her mother folded the towel once more.
“You are important people.”
There was a pause.
“People,” she added.
“Plural.”
Her daughter smiled.
The next morning, both yellow towels were missing from the cupboard.
Read this when your mother has saved something ordinary for you for far longer than necessary.
If this story stayed with you…
She Always Sent Me Home With Something · The Plastic Cover on the Sofa · The Saree in the Cupboard
