Mother's day

Mother’s day sans Maa!

While, I sit back, with a choked throat ogling at other’s happiness and pride on having a mother in their respective lives, something pierced through my flesh and bones and hit me right where it is supposed to: the heart; A feeling that I never stumbled upon, or was perhaps suppressed with the ‘ever-so-fresh’ pains and commotion within me; a feeling so beautiful and untouched by most: A mother’s love achieves the truest glory, only in her absence. 

“Get me a pretty saree, before you do anything else, with your first paycheck” You’d once demand, with a matronly tone, upon my wish to earn and buying a penthouse by the Bandra beach. Now with you no more of your naggings or whining for presents and demands, I often find myself frequenting the plush stores in search of that ‘pretty saree’ and a good ritzy handbag, for no reasons. “Who do you want it for Ma’am, your MOTHER? Ah, MOTHER’S DAY special?” the sales-boy grinned, expecting for a yes, last week, at the mall. “Yes, but probably ma doesn’t need it anymore. She might have toured the planet and have got herself plenty of luxuries and presents”, I walked out with a smile that day. Why? Maybe, I am at peace, that she isn’t having those toe-curling pain anymore. That she isn’t being calmed down with sedation anymore. That she doesn’t have to take any more tantrums from us. That she is now happily looking over us. That she is easily breathing in and out sans the bulky ventilation masks. That she is now talking and having her ever favorite : ’gobindbhog bhaat and alu-siddho’ with grandpas and enjoying the liberation from “moksh and maya’. 

They say you haven’t left. Indeed so. I can feel you in the sudden wisps of breeze past midnight, making the wing-changs dance to its tune, and blowing my hair as if to caress me to sleep. I feel you in the serene languidness, in the freshly picked Roses, in the morning dews, flower scents being carried by the night air, the smell of the doused Earth. You are here…I know.

There is one thing mightier than death. The memories. It is ever so fresh and is the only thing that don’t die; perhaps, the only thing that defeated Death.

Happy Mother’s Day Mummy! I might not be fine without you, but that’s okay, I’m managing, like you did, like we all do, by clinging on to the best possible memories. 

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One year of emptiness…

Time’s winged chariot seems to have halted today, for a while, to box up nostalgia, before it takes off again.

 

One year. Of wet pillows. Of Darker nights. Of Self-condolences. Of faking smiles. Of that one empty dining chair. Of innumerable struggles to fill the devoid. Of draping your sarees. Of treasuring your albums. Of changing topics, on the mere arrival of your topic, veiling the tears and choked throats. Of trying your recipes, only to fail terribly. Of embarking upon your framed smile, to reap strength. Of the routine dreams featuring your surprising return from heaven. Of seeking blessings from you and not God. Of becoming stronger. Of becoming fearless. Of drawing the beauty of death, and not life. Of appreciating life:the way it is. Of losing the long term faith on what they term as ‘Almighty’, but rather procuring sufficient blessings from you on every step I’ve taken so far. Of trying to comprehend what was ‘good’ in your death, for many said, “what happens, happens for good.”
They often ask me about the best memory I’ve had with you… I’ve got so many. I’ve slacked down one.

“Na, kothao jabi na”, she did held my hand tight, against her bosom thereafter sleeping off, a day prior to her heavenly departure, in the hospital at Chennai. It was past 10 pm and Baba had gone out to buy dinner for me and Minnie. While Ma laid, with a bunch of wires and pipes penetrating her neck, hands, waist in the most abominable manner possible, looking out the glass door anticipating his return. It was her 16 day of suffering. I could have withdrawn my hand, post her sedation effect. I didn’t, seeing that long awaited smile around her pale lips, while she slept peacefully, with my hand on her bosom, as if happy that she has me. I remember standing there for quite a while… Questioning life’s injustice. Shrewdness and frustration on happy souls. 
Only if you had clasped me a little tight that day, God might have been a little merciful, in changing his mind. Or maybe he still wouldn’t have. You never know. The un-Godly he is. Or maybe he isn’t and whatever he does, holds a good meaning. 🙂
Nevertheless, I know you’re already in peace. Content that we’re managing without you. Laughing without you. Living without you.
Miss you…