मेमोरिएस ऑफ़ चिल्धूद

Very recently, traveling to and fro electronic city and home has given me less wrath and more solace to my Self, revealing itself, emotionally and historically. Children crossing the road, Moms at the super market yelling at their kids for having picked a cracker without her approval, my doting son imagining that one need not have to bother about money because there is a money disperser handy (he still has not understood savings account!)- all these show me the changing world of myself, my parents and grandparents, and the subsequent direction of my life which is a continuation of those days and the upheavals of that time when I was a Kid. Like in most families, my parents wanted to show me that each of their parents are better than the other and we were made to bow at their feet, take their blessings. Like always, my Mom won this race and eventually I was shuffled off to my maternal parents’ house for my studies. My parents lived away from town and keeping my comfort and happiness in mind, I was made to live at 93, Ashoka Street. My father was a busy person, managing about 50 men at a BEL and my mom was a school teacher until my younger brother was brought into this world. I seemed happy and normal, but the retro journey provides insight into what it means to travel between grandparents and parents house every holiday, how the imbalance between these two worlds affects a person’s thinking and feeling, and how these thinking are manifested in personal and social sphere, over time.
I was never a burden to anybody. My relationship with my father was rather terse but I habituated to avoid any discord after few initial turbulences. My Mom was one person who did not blink when I demanded material things which were beyond comprehensions in most cases. Aren’t all Moms? Yes, she still is. Probably she tries to give all the time and energy to my son, who is taken care by her, spending more time with her than with his parents! But I feel he is in safe hands. I remember once when I reached her place she had carried my 3 month old son even to the loo to visit the loo fearing he may tumble from the cot!
I saw my mother in my grandmother and even addressed her as “Mom”. She taught me to let things settle on its own in one’s life. Of course, there is a loss involved in this process. One forgets to fight for an object of desire, thriving on the philosophy that if it means to reach you, it does. She was one authentic thing, you know. I left her place when I was 17 and my memories are still strong. She stood near the picket fenced wall waving at me and the thick glasses she wore made tears look really huge. I resisted so hard going back to her. My journey there after took a different pattern. My graduation and post-grad research kept me away from her physically but on and off she wanted me to inject her insulin, test her blood glucose level. That was her way of pulling me toward her, on the pretext of falling sick. I was naïve to the extent of calling myself ignorant- had I known her intentions, I would have done things that could make her happy.
The delight of sitting next to her while she threaded flowers in the portico, sitting on the kitchen slab while she asked me to taste her dishes to see if she has added salt appropriately, her tightened jaw when she was in pain due to her arthritis are still fresh and hardly can be separated from my everyday thoughts of her.
I saw death at every stage of my growing years, especially my uncle, my grand father, left gaping hole in my grand mother’s life and she cursed her fate more often than necessary.
Last time I saw her alive was in the ICU. She was reduced to a sparrow like creature and she did not move a muscle when I touched her. Yet, I remember seeing drops of tears flowing toward the pillow from her eyes. She said a silent good-bye to me.
I initially believed I should not keep anything that reminded of her. Her Glasses, nail-cutter, comb, unused nasal drop fillers were all tucked in my ward robe but I owe her my very existence as a human being. I still can’t imagine she has left me and do not want to think that I am mentally-scrawny, orphan person.