Story:

Ravi was a boy full of dreams. He wanted to study in a big college, wear branded shoes, and one day, sit in an air-conditioned office. His mother, Shanta, had just one dream—to see Ravi happy.

She was a tailor in a small village. Every morning, she woke up before the sun, made tea, packed Ravi’s lunch, and sat down at her sewing machine. The machine made noise, but her struggles were silent.

She never let Ravi know that the electricity bill was unpaid. She stitched through the night by the dim light of a kerosene lamp. Her fingers had cuts, her eyes were tired—but she smiled whenever Ravi called her “Super Amma.”

Ravi topped his school, went to college, and got a job in a city. He bought expensive clothes, a new phone, and had coffee in shiny cafés. Calls to Amma became shorter.

One day, Ravi came home after many months—with gifts and a big smile. But as he stepped into the house, he paused. The sewing machine was covered with dust. In the corner of the room sat his mother, thinner, weaker, but still smiling.

She didn’t say a word about her illness. She only asked, “Did you eat, beta?”

That night, Ravi couldn’t sleep. He looked around and saw old photos, his certificates, his medals—all carefully framed on the wall. Not one photo of her.

And that’s when he realized: his success had a price. His mother paid it—without a single receipt, without ever asking for anything in return.