Mother, Sweet Mother of Mine
A mother’s love is God’s substitute on earth. Seldom do we realize it, taking her for granted. Only when I turned mother did I realize where my mother figured in my life. One press of the motherhood button and my mind flashbacked one after another all the experiences that connected me with my mother. Today, I stand tall as a mother united with her in spirit and soul.
I remember writing my first Mother’s Day article way back in 2002 for a woman’s magazine. I also remember the look in my mother’s eyes as she read the article. I am grateful to the Almighty for inspiring me to express my love for mother when she was alive. Many of us are not so fortunate. In fact, even today, when my mother is no longer alive I still have a lot of things to say to her which I felt I could have told her when she was alive.
I wonder whether I could have asked for more. From infant to adult, from daughter to wife to mother, she has always been there for me. We shared emotions as wives and then as mothers and there could have been no better friend, something only a kind God could bestow upon a daughter. Today, when I want to tell her that I love her more than I ever love anybody else, she is not here to hear me. She is not here to feel the unconditional love I feel for her now- something I had wrapped within my soul showing it to her in bits and pieces when she was alive.
Way back in Bangalore when the weather was cool and pleasant, with little pollution and no sign of any software boom to explode in our tranquil lives, my mother’s life was centered on me. Even to the extent of being teased for being so protective about me, she built her life around me. I still remember her help me put on my red cardigan everyday in the cold Bangalore morning, handing me my lunch box filled with something delicious (which I sometimes can’t manage to cook for my own son!), standing near the gate and waving to me with the usual words, ”Dhyaan se jaana beta.” (Go carefully child!). As I recollect it all life comes to a standstill with me wondering, ‘is this life, to be lived in memories of the past?’ Today, when I want to share my little joys and frustrations with her, I feel lost.
When my son remembers his Naani ( my mother and my son’s grandmother) and cries I console him telling him that God has been kind to give him a grandmother who lived so long just for him. I never got to see any of my grandparents! I tell him that Naani loved him so that is why she was there for him.
“Then, why is she not there now if she loves me so much?” he asks in return.
What can I say? I tell him that Naani needed some rest, which she could get only with God. Had she been alive she would have had to cook and do so many other innumerable little tasks. Child that he is, he gets convinced and goes about his way. But, I can’t say the same for me. Even years after her demise, I grieve in installments – in the kitchen, in the bathroom, when nobody is around. I grieve alone.
Grief will not bring her back again as she roams about in her astral form exploring new worlds even as she tries to free herself from the bonds of her past. By grieving will I be holding on to her freedom trail, I wonder. I have no answers. So, I wrap my love for her in my heart again tied with pretty strings of fresh flowers and a gentle breeze to be opened when I see her again some day, in a life beyond….