precisely a fortnight before my last birthday, the person who gave me that birth day, lay dying in my own arms.
in that roaring silence, both our hearts were heavy as we perfectly understood what is happening and communicated the uncommunicable.
sitting next to her, watcing the evening light turning into a shadow, literally and metaphorically, my thoughts were neither of the sweet memories of her love
wetting my eyes nor bitter memories of regret burning my soul.
my thoughts lingered gingerly on the delicate web of natures' first and foremost relation ; the mother-child relation.
on that frozen moment of time, i was just a child, she was just a mother. nothing else existed.
the moment was exactly the same as when i was born.
when the sun rises and when the sun sets , arent' the moments almost the same?
and it is the same truth for every one.
no matter how big a child becomes, a king or a rogue, a queen or a queer , he/she is loved as dearly and always remains as "mother of X"
conversly, whether i am born to an empress in a palace or a slut in a slum, she will remain my mother, i love her, i inherit her genes, grow under her, share her
reputation , good or evil and always remain as "son of X".
there is no escape. it is my fate.
i can change my friends easily, job easily ,even my name easily but how can i change my mother? like how can i change my date of birth?
i can adopt a child but i cannot adopt an own-mother [kanna thalli].
i cannot escape from my mothers reputation and she from mine. it is unblical. even the great adi shankaraacharya who was detatched from all worldly connections had to come to his mother at the time of her death.
i never stayed long with my mother.i was constantly away from her - for studies, for work etc.
but we both deeply felt that we were more attached to each other than other siblings and relations. love does not depend on the length of time spent together.
with some people you may spend a life time yet no love, with some others you may spend a shortwhile yet love enough to last a lifetime.
in paulo coehlo's book BRIDA, a married woman meets a wise stranger at a temple and spends only an afternoon with him talking. yet that moment touches her life.she reveres him and considers him as her real husband a life-partner.
i never obeyed my mother.
submission is not love. submission is the worst form of cowardice on the part of person who submits, and it is worst form of ugly exploitation on the part of the
person who demands.
mother never demanded it from me too.
she is illiterate, 'thumb chaap wali' but how highly educated! how many PhD mothers have such gyan?
she was a widow since i learnt 'a, aa , e. ee... but till her death i never found her cow down before anybody, however big. how could she expect that from me,
her first child?
i went against her wishes frequently.
i flew abroad, took no dowry, married out of caste, stayed out of culture, studied and taught some thing which she or anyone else never understood.
i deeply respected her concern for my future, born out of her love. she respected my taking decision for myself even if it is against her will. she only puts her points strongly but will not insist i follow. thus she makes me more responsible for my actions.
everytime i went against her will, i will spend hours persuading her.
she trusted and let me.
to love is natural and easy. to trust is very tough.
perhaps my not having a father from childhood necessiated me to take decisions from my childhood and the results increased her confidence in me.
in the end, swallowing her pride she says "if balaram feels strongly that way, it must be fine." this sentence is good enough for me to give goose-pimples
and make damn sure i dont disappoint her.
i 'belonged to her' and she to me.
i am 'her' son.
if that kind of thing is called possession, i like to be possessed , tenderly.
hug me but never crush me, stroke me but never choke me, order me for you have a right over me, but let me do what i , after great consideration, not in hot impulse nor with stubborn ego, decide to do against your will, out of love for me.
this unsaid quote was understood by both of us.
no mother wants her childs tears. nor any child wants to give pain to the one who bore all pain to give life and nurture.
[.........to be continued]
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