Life, as I knew it, would never be the same again without my
mother. Maa, mommy, mom…she had many names with which I addressed her…. And
when silver stripes of hair (which, quite magically, were very few even at the
age of 60+) started making a peek-a-boo on her head full of black hair, I even
joked often calling her budiya and
told that she should get a bob cut to spare her increasingly thin choti….
Amazing how I get a rush of so many memories the moment I
think of her….It all seems so surreal even after a fortnight of her demise…
Seeking refuge in
Geeta
vasamsi jirnani yatha vihaya
navani grhnati naro parani
tatha sarirani vihaya jirnany
anyani samyati navani dehi
This verse of Geeta tells: Just as a person changes clothes,
the atman (soul) too gives up an old body to accept a new one.
We all know that death is the ultimate truth but it still
hurts to lose a loved one, especially if the person you are forced to bid adieu
is the one in whose womb you had spent 9 months, who taught you your first
words; who cared for you when you were so vulnerable and young; who was your
best friend and confidante until you built your own world with your work,
friends, husband et all; YES, it is your mother who shields you throughout your
life from every tempest, with whom you are likely to have your fair share of
fights and yet love her so much that nothing in this world or any other would
match it….
Perhaps you wonder why put all these thoughts on a blog when
it’s such a personal loss that should be coped up with in loneliness? Well, the
answer lies in the fact that my way of coping is via what I do best - write.
Being a content writer by profession, I have been keying-in hundreds and
thousands of words for years’ now, for my clients’ projects, but this time, it’s
a trip down memory lane to remember the lady who did such a marvelous job of
bringing us up (me and my two sisters), and making the household run like a
well oiled machine...so much so that we never spared a thought of the herculean task she
did….until now.
My unsung hero, this is how I remember you, Maa….
Childhood incidents
- · I wasn’t a very naughty child but often had some quirky ideas. One day, I decided to test if my parents, especially my mom, loved me, and if she did, how much. I did a quick survey of my mother in the kitchen, went to the neighbor’s house facing our front door (the two doors used to remain open throughout the day as we kids would hop in and out of the houses), came back and promptly slid under the divan. The divan, covered with a bed sheet that almost touched the floor, concealed me without any problem, though the cobwebs under it were giving me creeps. I don’t know for how long I lay there without making any sound when I heard a commotion….Voila! I was finally missed and everyone was running here and there, calling my name, while I was crouching under the divan, acting as the silent spectator of the hullabaloo. I don’t know whose fertile head had the idea of checking under the divan, but when I was discovered in such a state – harmless and smiling, my mother finally heaved a sigh of relief. Gosh, she loves me - I uttered under my breath to myself…
- · The movie Khubsoorat (With Rekha in the lead) was a rage in the 1980s. Though I was just 4 years then, I loved the song sun sun sun didi tere liye ek rishta aaya hai….and used to dance with it….most often, my steps started on the bed, from where I jumped on the floor, danced some more, and used to rush to the bathroom or kitchen, only to come back to the room to finish off the song-and-dance routine. One day, in my enthusiasm, I rushed to the kitchen, where the angithi (a portable, traditional heater that’s loaded with lighted coals, and used for cooking) was placed, and almost collided with it. The slight brush I had with the burning coals burnt my skin on the thigh and leg badly, and then it was all upon my mother to patiently treat my wounds with some home-made medications (given by the neighboring aunt) that finally healed the wounds and let the scars fade.
- · I was fortunate to grow up at a time when neighboring aunts and uncles were nothing short of an extended family. Perhaps that we were all Bengalis and lived outside West Bengal strengthened the bond. Well, one fine afternoon, after getting down from my school truck under the watchful eyes of Tumpa Didi (she – the daughter of a Bengali couple staying close to our house, was my self-appointed guardian), I had this sudden urge to taste delicious egg curry cooked by her mother (which Tumpa Didi had told me during our journey back home). So, I merrily went to her home, washed up my feet and hands and gorged on the food, forgetting all along what my mother might have been going through when I failed to return on time. I wasn’t beaten when I returned home (or was rather rescued once again, somewhat, as I was presumed to have been lost) but the tongue-lashing that I got from my mother and then my father made me realize what a silly thing I did - all for the sake of egg curry (It was tasty as hell though)!
- · I was in class IV/V. We had a routine of playing hide-and-seek during our lunch hours at school, and during one such routine, I was running without a care to hide and avoid being spotted by a friend, when I slammed into a pillar, and then for a few seconds, I literally saw stars in the day. My friends came rushing and took me to the Principal’s office. By then, I was crying and saw that my white shirt was dotted with blood marks oozing from my forehead. I was seated then on the back seat of an office peon’s cycle, who took me to the doctor’s chamber. The doctor sewed my forehead up but never gave me any sedatives. So, I cried and shouted my lungs out. I was given a few medicines, and taken back to school. I was adamant not to return home early (I was afraid about facing my mother in such a messed up condition) and so attended classes till the end. When I finally came back, my mother was shocked and just consoled me about my injuries. I, though in pain, was happy for not being scolded.
- · Maths and Mom were poles apart. At least, my mother made me think so. My father was in charge of my mathematics education, but I always felt a bit uneasy whenever he was out of town (which was quite often, as he had to tour the country on factory deputations). Though I managed well, doing the homeworks on my own sometimes and copying them from friends when I couldn’t, there was one day when I was sulking as too may sums were given as homework and I wanted to get them all done at home. My mother, seeing my plight, asked for the maths book and a rough copy to have a go at the sums. I was thrilled and a bit apprehensive, all at the same time, but when the answers matched with those given at the end of the book, I was overjoyed. Why do you pretend that you can’t do maths, maa? - I had asked my mother that day. She said nothing and smiled sweetly. That day taught me not to underestimate my mother any more.
All roses and no
thorns?
After reading my childhood memoirs, if you thought that my
relationship with my mother was all roses, think again. Like most of you, I too
had my fair share of angst, fights, and misunderstandings with her, the major
one being about my marriage. I never wanted to wed and she was hell bent on
getting me married. Thankfully and quite funnily though, I found Dhiman, with
whom I thought I could share the rest of my life, and my mother was perhaps the
happiest person the day I declared that I was going to get married, finally!!!
Will the feeling of
losing her ever sink in?
More than a fortnight has passed and I still couldn’t
believe it all, let alone allowing the feeling to sink in. But I guess that an
elderly aunt was right. When I told her how I was afraid of living with this
void that’s now a lifelong companion of mine, she told:
The void her passing
has created in your heart will ease with time, as all your memories of her
become alive and fill that void, and she will continue to live in your memories for the rest of your life….
Rest in peace, my dear Maa.
No comments:
Post a Comment