Just not a Mother

                                                              Just not a Mother


I always saw her as a mother,
I repent for not seeing her any other.

She was also a girl with gusto,
Fearless fetish vivacious,
Her smile buried deep sorrows,
Her desire to live was voracious.

But why I saw only a mother?
A girl sometimes peeped through beneath her duties,
A soul eager to live
Lost in the worldly niceties.

Why didn't I see a teenager?
Fun frolic coquettish-Oh! what a pleasure
But I saw you just as a mother,
A sage, provider, giver and nothing other.

In you I wanted only affection
For the world-child love is the only perfection,
Nothing else matter,
You're a mother- nothing other.

You cared for us round the clock
Watched every step like a hawk,
But it was also undeniably true
There was a woman curled up in you.

I never knew or bothered about your wish
To express it, probably you had to be selfish,
That's what all the world want
A widow should cry with her husband's urn.

But why didn't I see?
There is a woman in front of me!
Are you just a symbol of sacrifice?
For whose vice? Why did you always tried to be nice?

You reared me with love and care
But maa, where is your share?
Oh! I forgot, you cannot have any desire
that 'll ignite the world's ire.

But, why did I fail to see
A girl and a woman in thee?
I silently followed all
As though commitment was your only call.

Why did I see you as a mother? 
Nothing other, nothing other.

You are just not a 'mother' for me
A living soul with dreams--you see,
I feel it as I am a mother now
But how does it matter anyhow?
Because it's been quite long,
Since you are gone, you are gone.  

 

Seven Ages Of a Woman and More

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother "what will I be…?” I am far from humming the Dorris Day popular number, instead recollecting this question which I asked my mother especially on my birthday and that too a zillion times.  I thought Birthdays to be magical days, whatever you wish was granted and I surmised that by next birthday I would grow up enough to be what I wanted to be! During childhood my birthday was just my day, I was the crowned princess on that day. From distributing toffees in school, to surprise presents, dress and card - all was mine. Until, I came to know that it was my maa’s birthday too. Oh! It’s a little uncommon but not strange though. All these years maa patiently, meticulously and ardently prepared for my birthday. Why didn’t she mention that before? Because she wanted me to be the cynosure of all eyes on that day, probably that’s how she celebrated her own.

So, for me it was ignorance, whining and then acceptance that I have to share my day, or I thought so! Seems hilarious, now. Then, during teens, with hope, vivacity and sparkle in my eyes I was happy to exchange wishes with maa on our birthday. The day whizzed past with hosting friends, trip to movies, a touch of glitz and glam and ofcourse breaking the rules without worrying for penalty.

Back home, maa and dida waited to have the special meal with me. Oh! I did oblige them..(haa haa) ‘Payesh’ prepared by my dida with jaggery and a typical fried rice and chilly chicken, an exceptional dish by maa, made me feel on cloud nine. They were happy to see me share a meal with them, even though it was the fag of the day. A gift of giving, I couldn’t fathom it completely at that point of time.

As I grew out of teens and paraded towards maturity, my excitement knew no bounds on our birthday. The paradigm shift from birthday being my day to devise ways to surprise maa on her birthday and scouting for the best possible gifts with my permissible pocket money.

“…..Oh forget my birthday, you are young, it’s your day. I am quite grown up,” was her sheepish response. She never used the clichéd word “old”…the trait she got from her mother. My octogenarian dida detested if someone called her old lady. What amused me then…even amuses me now. Earlier I thought it to be humorous not to accept one’s age, now I glean how positive, energetic and young they were at heart!

Then came a day when I had my Birthday to myself again. Not to share with anyone, not even my mother. I reminisced quietly, wanted to hold on and go back to days where we blew out the candles together. Never counted the candles, probably merged with ageless love and affection.

A mother and daughter or creator and creation being one, all in revelry and celebratory mood.

I was pensive and huddled in a solitary corner as I missed my companion in celebration. When my thoughts drifted to faraway land,  I heard a loud thud as the door opened with utmost might. A cacophonous Happy Birthday song, in high decibel and in chorus-by my kids. My daughter darted in the room and hugged me while my son sprinted in and nestled on my lap. They gave me cute presents for which they saved their pocket money. My daughter placed a flower beside her nini’s photo and wished her Happy Birthday.

Who said I lost my companion in celebration? Part of me is gone but part of me is here too.  I was the world for my maa and now I am the world for my kids.

So, from ignorance, whining, acceptance, jubilation, contemplation, giving up and now celebration again…This is Seven Ages of a Woman and still to be continued….

Today I again celebrated…I celebrated the Relations.

Brace for the odd ball

No one said that being a mom is like a windmill

Most of the schools ensure that vacations to be a torture for the parents. After my childrens’ vacation started, there was not a square inch of the floor left without cello tapes, chart papers, drawing sheets, erasers, pencils, sketch pens, marker pens , glue sticks, scissors and  colour pencils in all sizes. We live in a super modern world where in a corner laptop lay open and from within that Google kept on staring at me! Another corner and almost under the table I found Jai dabbling with water colours. His tiny hands were riot of colours. I dashed towards him with a squeal when he slyly attempted to make his handprints permanently on the wall! I was successful in thwarting his attempts on the wall but not on my face and just washed mane.(Atleast being spared the agony of answering the MES, the civic body responsible for maintaining Army Quarters). I felt happy and sad at the same time. No, sad actually. I felt yelling, “ooooooooooooofffffffffffff..noooooooo……MUUUUUUMMMMMMMYYYYYY.”..Just hoping magically maa should  appear from above and give me the manual to rear up my brats!

Just then, my daughter, scratching her head and with a painful look came up and asked,” Mom I have to write an essay , but I am unable to elaborate on the topic, so will you-----------” she stood there expecting me to fill in the blanks.

“What is the topic?’

“What will you do if you were a bird…”, she said in the most uninteresting voice.

“But dear can’t you write a few lines on that? Use your imagination..its not tough,”..she still stood leaning to the refrigerator and staring outside towards the balcony where a pigeon happily moving around bobbing its head.  Probably she was thinking of asking the pigeon that what is it like being a winged creature…well the dreary look in her face atleast suggested so.



Eggs of fancy and heartbreak

The confidence about my children were about to hit rock bottom ( attimes I felt that they would do great, and mostly though I thought they are hopeless, helpless), my son with a shockingly painted face came out from under the table. Sensing the trouble he wanted to win brownie points (he very often does the same), “ Mummy, you know if I were a bird what would I do?,”. Interestingly I looked at him and somehow thought that this boy will make me proud with his imaginative power someday. I noticed Juhi . She was looking at the ceiling (what was she thinking?). Just then Jai blurted out,…..''If I was a bird I would have laid eggs, many eggs, many many eggs..see maa..I am looking like a peacock now, with so many colours on me and now I am laying eggs…see …,'' and he posed for the act.  Juhi burst out into laughter and with a double blow in my heart…I laughed it out too.





It was kind of weird!

                                     

I was trying to rush through the Kolkata traffic only to find one red light after another angrily staring at me. It was the Alipore crossing and I got caught into traffic snarl. Tensed..I glanced at the watch which showed 5:15 pm. Only 45 mins left to reach the hospital. Where my mother would be waiting for me. She was admitted due to high fever and severe stomach ache which was a fallout of her disease, cancer the emperor of all maladies coupled with equally harsh treatment Chemotherapy. She was in and out of the hospital. Her days were numbered.

I was getting late as I would also have to buy medicines, provide necessary things as well as meet the doctor. Its difficult to fight a losing battle. But letting go is even more difficult. I left my  4 year old daughter Juhi with the neighbour and for a couple of days, received no message from my husband who was posted in the borders. I was anxious, tensed dejected but ironically just had myself to pat and say...YOU HAVE TO GO ON. 

I wanted a miracle to happen that could iron out all creases.

A typical Sadhubabaa

Just then a middle aged man in orange outfit stood beside the window. He resembled a “ Sadhu babaa” with the trademark dhoti and a bowl which had a Trishul and photos of couple of Gods. And he started moving the Rudraksh garland before my eyes and chanted some mantras. I generally ignore these characters as they seem to be feigning. But that day I couldn’t.  

He assured me a miracle. As if he could read my mind. Then he asked me to give him the biggest number of note in my purse and promised to return it when the traffic signal turned green. Sceptically but with an underlined hope I gave him rupees 500. He rattled out something. Unintelligible of course to my ears. Honking of the horns prompted me to start my car. The man was strangely staring at me and finally I threatened him to call the police if he dared not to give back the money. I knew that would be difficult as he had the chances to disappear in the crowd. I glared at him and acted to get out of the car. Few watched the tamasha. Suddenly he threw the money to me. As I pressed the accelerator I found the 500 rupee crumpled but intact. I placed it in my purse roughly as I was driving amidst heavy traffic. From the rear view mirror I found the man standing though now appeared miniscule gradually turned to a spot and then disappeared.

Why I gave the money I couldn’t figure out as I never trusted such street Sadhubabaas. Had he been a cheater he would have never given me back the money. And why did he keep on standing? I wasn’t hypnotised because the moment I gave the money I realised to have been a emotional fool.

So was it a miracle then? Somehow I was elated for the moment. That day nothing exceptional happen. Maa was in pain, doctors prescription became even more lengthy and maa’s life short, I got late after the doctors visit and found my daughter asleep in my neighbours house. This scenario was almost regular.

But somehow I kept that 500 rupee note intact. From its crumpled state it was easily distinguishable from others.  I still have it. Certain things in life are devoid of reasoning. Do I still hope a miracle? Yes, why not?

God, he won the battle already..what else can you take away?

It was 24 December’08. Maa completed the six chemotherapy cycles and with renewed hope we landed at Tata Memorial Hospital for another check up. It is a huge place filled with hope and despair. Patients, attendants, doctors and other staffs all fighting Cancer- the disease of the century.

Due to enormous rush we had to wait hours before seeing the doctor. Luckily I saw a chair vacant at the corner and grabbed it immediately for Maa. Cancer seems to create a bond. Even unknown faces flashed sympathy or at times encouragement. As there were more heads than the sitting arrangements most of us stood by and after the introductionary note conversation took off. Discussion revolved around “the disease” and I realised that Cancer is spreading like an epidemic. For a moment I looked at Maa. She smiled. It meant ‘my child don’t worry.’

In the crowd there was a man who was entertaining all with humorous and interesting anecdotes. Everyone seemed to enjoy this brief relief. He spoke to a person next to him frequently and therefore I concluded that he was the attendant with the patient. ‘Hello’,’ suddenly he turned towards me, ‘I am Normon Tshring, coming from east to west, and yes” candidly he continued, “ you got to wait long so get some coffee.” “Sure”, I said, and introduced myself. As we sipped the coffee Normon started describing the Christmas celebration at his place Haflong in Assam. There was some charisma in him and we all got engrossed in his words until suddenly with a jolt I heard the staff almost yelling out ...”Mr. Normon...This is the second call.”

As he hurriedly walked inside the doctor’s chamber I routed out the possibility he being a patient . “He must be there for some other reason,” I assured myself. Otherwise how could he stand for hours and chat so spiritedly? I reasoned with myself. I glanced at Maa. Again she smiled. It meant, “I’m fine.’ For the past two years since Maa was detected with cervical cancer and with innumerable hospital visits, doctors advises, medications and increasing pain there was a constant vacillation between optimism and sheer despondency we also developed some nonverbal communications which we both understood.

Normon stepped out of the chamber. A quick look around could tell you that a few more people have a question mark hung in their face. For him nothing changed. With same exuberance matched with a big smile, he came up right in front of me and said, ‘I was describing the Christmas celebration at my place, remember?’ I gaped at him as he gushed out, ‘I will fly back to day and celebrate this Christmas with much vigour. I donot have to stay back for more check ups.”

‘Oh that’s good!,’ all I could manage to utter.

‘Yes it is good,’ he reiterated, ‘I am lucky you know, because atleast I know that I have this Christmas with me, unlike many. The tumours in my bone have refused to bog down, just like me!” He looked around with a bigger smile wished aloud everyone, “ Merry Christmas,” and walked away without looking back.

What do you call that? Positive approach or sheer acceptance?

And I just learnt to celebrate life.