The phone rings.

 

You glance at the screen. It's your mother.

 

You're in the middle of something. A meeting that's running late, a conversation with a friend, scrolling through something that doesn't really matter but somehow feels urgent in the moment.

 

You think, “I'll call her back in ten minutes.”

And then you don't.

 

It’s not because you don't love her. You do. But somewhere, deep in the unexamined corners of your mind, you're at peace with a realisation. And that’s, “she’ll always be there.” 

 

But, will she?

Hang on, this article won’t guilt you into calling your mother. It explains why we call our lovers, friends, and even colleagues back, but somehow slack when it comes to her.

 

Is there a hierarchy?

 

There’s something most of us won't admit out loud. We do have a hierarchy for phone calls.

 

Say, your boss calls. Do you answer? You do, even if you're in the shower.

 

What happens when a friend texts about weekend plans? You respond immediately.

 

But when Mom calls? “I'll call her back.”

 

No, you’re not cruel. Don’t beat yourself about it. You have deep-rooted assumptions that have been solidified over time. I have them too.

We assume she'll understand. We assume she'll wait. We assume there will always be a later.

 

And most of the time, we're right. She does wait. She does understand. There is a later.

 

Until one day, there isn't.

 

I’m sure you're absolutely aware of this possibility. It scares all of us. But we keep doing it.

I’ll tell you why this hierarchy exists in the first place.

 

Why Do You Take Some Calls Immediately?

 

When was the last time you let your phone ring when it was someone you were afraid of losing?

 

A new relationship, maybe. Someone you're trying to impress. Someone whose attention feels conditional, precarious.

 

You answer immediately. You text back within minutes. You're present, attentive, and careful.

 

Because you know, consciously or not, that absence has consequences.

 

But that’s not the case when it comes to your mother. Her love doesn't feel conditional. So you treat it like it's infinite.

 

And in doing so, you take the one person who has loved you unconditionally for your entire life, and place her at the bottom of your priority list. Right at the end of the hierarchy.

 

And I get it. It’s not because she matters the least. It’s only because there are usually no consequences attached to sending her to the voicemail. So it seems justified to call her later.

 

Did you know there’s an entire psychology behind this “later”? Let me explain.

 

The Psychology of “Later"

There’s a reason we do this. Psychologists call it temporal discounting, or present bias. It’s the human tendency to prioritise immediate rewards over future ones.

 

The easiest way to understand this is through credit cards.

 

Say you want to buy a PlayStation for Rs 50,000. You don’t have the money. But your credit card limit lets you make the purchase anyway.

 

Of course, paying on credit has downsides. You end up paying high interest for several months. The final cost of the product becomes far higher than its original price.

 

But you don’t focus on that future distress. You focus on the present. So you buy the PlayStation.

 

That’s present bias.

 

Similarly, here, you’re biased towards talking to your friends or your love interest, and assume your mother can wait.

 

But that’s not it. There’s something else happening here.

We’re treating permanence like a given.

 

Your mother has been a constant since before you were born. She was there when you learned to walk, when you failed your first test, when your heart broke for the first time.

 

So your brain makes a shortcut. It assumes she will always be there.

 

On the other hand, your friend's availability feels finite. You know, instinctively, that if you don't answer, don't engage, the friendship might fade.

 

But your mother? She's a fixed point. So her call can wait.

 

Except it can't.

 

The Guilt We Carry But Don't Act On

 

You know this already, don't you?

 

You've felt the pang of guilt when you see her name on the screen and don't answer. You've thought, more than once, “I should call her more often.”

 

And then time passes by. The weekend comes and goes. You were busy. You were tired. You forgot.

 

And she doesn't complain. She doesn't guilt-trip you. She doesn't demand. Which makes it easier to do it again.

 

But sometimes it’s not just our selectively bad memory. We don't call back because we know what the conversation will be.

 

“How are you?”

“Fine, Mom. Busy.”

“Are you eating properly?”

“Yes, Mom.”

 

The same loop, with similar questions. The gentle concerns that feel, in the moment, like nagging.

 

But she's not calling to interrogate you. She's calling to hear your voice. To know you're okay. To feel connected to the person she spent decades raising, protecting, worrying about.

 

She's calling because for most of your life, she knew everything about your day. And now she knows almost nothing. That must hurt, no?

 

Also, let’s address it. As heartbreaking as it may sound, she does have finite time. And some of us have already seen the oncoming of that dreaded season.

 

The Moment It Becomes Real

 

There's a moment, and it comes for all of us, eventually, when the impermanence becomes undeniable.

 

Maybe it's the first time you notice she's repeating herself more often. Maybe it's the first time she asks you to help her with something she used to do effortlessly. In things like technology, lifting something heavy, remembering a name.

 

Maybe it's seeing a photo from five years ago and realising how much she's aged.

 

Suddenly, the arithmetic changes, doesn’t it? “Later” has a deadline. And all those calls you didn't return, they don't feel like minor oversights anymore.

 

To understand this better, last evening, I made a huge mistake. I sat down to do some calculations. And it broke my heart into a million pieces.

 

The Simple Math

 

This is what I did:

If your mother is 60, and you're 30, and you call her once a week for 30 minutes, how much time do you have left with her?

 

Assuming she lives to 80, that's 20 years.

20 years × 52 weeks = 1,040 calls.

1,040 calls × 30 minutes = 31,200 minutes.

31,200 minutes = 520 hours.

 

That's it.

 

520 hours left with your mother.

 

Less than a month of continuous time, spread across two decades.

 

And that's if everything goes perfectly. If there are no missed calls. No silences. No years where you're “too busy.”

 

Suddenly, "I'll call her back" feels different, doesn't it?

Hey, don’t tear up. There’s still time. The most obvious thing to do now is to call her.

I was thinking of doing the same and landed on a couple of conclusions.

 

What Calling Back Actually Means

 

Your mother doesn't need you to have the perfect thing to say. She doesn't need the call to be long, or deep, or life-changing.

 

She just needs to hear your voice. She needs to know you're okay. She needs to feel, even for ten minutes, like she's still part of your life.

 

Because for the first 18-20 years of your life, you were her world. Everything revolved around you. Your needs, your schedule, your milestones.

 

And then you left. You built your own life. Which is exactly what you were supposed to do.

 

But that doesn't mean the transition was easy for her.

 

You gained independence. She lost her central purpose.

 

So when she calls, she's not trying to intrude. She's trying to remember what it felt like when you still needed her.

 

Call Her Back

 

I know, I need not stress on it anymore. But I will. 

 

Call her.

 

Not tomorrow. Not this weekend. Today. Right now, if you can.

 

Tell her you were thinking about her. Tell her you're sorry for the calls you didn't return. Tell her something small and true. A moment from your day, a memory from childhood, a thank you for something she did that you never acknowledged.

 

It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be now.

Because “I'll call you back, Mom” is a promise most of us make but don't keep.

 

And one day, when the phone stops ringing, that promise becomes the thing we'd give anything to fulfill.

 

So call her back. While you still can.

 

Hey, I’m not crying. You are!
Now go. Call.