The last time this big Bird took me home, the cold body of my mother lay in an ice box, waiting for my brother and me. Her soul gone. The warmth of her embrace now cold from the ice. Her smile faded, forever. I was dreading the journey. I didn’t know myself for the moment and the hours afterward I see her. It was the worst day of my life.
It has been a year. During this one year she visited me a few times. I felt her presence as my husband, children and I reunited after my son’s week long summer camp. I felt her smiling beside me as I plucked the first vegetable from my garden. I felt her each time I cooked her recipe. I felt her as I sewed my first handbag. I have felt her, more powerful than ever.
This time I am going to help free her soul, so they say. It maybe a ritual, but maybe it will bring closure to the mourning. I don’t know, once again, how I will feel. But, maybe it will help me get over the grieving and celebrate her life. I will continue to feel her presence, I know, till my last breath. She will be there with me, holding my hand when I am weak, rejoicing with me at my successes, watching over me and keeping me blessed.
I dread going home, for the first time. It’s the first time, that I will be going home without my mother. It’s not that thought that I am dreading. When I open her cupboard, will I catch her smell? Will it feel like she is there, yet not there? I don’t know. Another uncertain period of life, where I don’t know myself.
I miss you Ma, today and everyday for the years to come. I wish I could hug you, just once more.
Category: Random thoughts
Getting up
There are good days and bad days
Like cancer
Being shoved to a corner
Being pushed down
In spirit
Known faces all around
A word
A gesture
Sometimes there are no walls
And yet I get up
With all my might
Sometimes I hold on to that climber
Little, yet it supports me
There are times when oh my way up
I am pushed back again
Yet I get up
I wail
My heart breaks each time
A little
I sew it
And get up
The halo of love
At a distance
Smiling upon me
Playing a game of mirage
Is it there
Yes it should be
Giving me the strength
Each time
To get up
And run.
At the coffee shop…
I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. I was amazed at how the thought of seeing him could still send fritters in my stomach. I was nervous like all those times, many years ago, when I waited for him at the entrance of the hostel. My hands were wet with sweat. I was going through the first hi, hello a thousand times in my head. Would he say hello, would I say hi, will he give me a light friendly hug? Will he just shake hands? Will he be as friendly as he used to be or would have marriage made him more formal? As usual he made me wait, the longest five minutes. I always waited for him back then too. There was a huge clock on the wall, there was a watch on my wrist and a clock on my phone’s home screen. They all moved so slowly agonizing my wait and stretching time further. I was idly looking out of the window when to add to my turmoil he suddenly appeared at my table with the same old big smile on his face. God, the smile that I fell for eons ago. I stood up, just in case he wanted to give me a hug. To my disappointment he said, “hey sit down”.. So those were the first words, no hi, no hello, no handshake, no hug. I sat down not taking my eyes off his face even for an instant. I hoped I was not gaping and he wouldn’t notice that I had butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to appear to be the calm and poised person he would expect me to be after being married to someone else and a mother of three kids. But hell no, how could this guy make me feel this way after all these years? Guess that’s what you call first love.. We set off like we had just separated the previous night, first about his travel, then mine, his family, then my family, his children, then my children. There was a lot of catch up conversation. After a while we easily got into talking about the years we spent as soul mates. How friends teased us, the adventures of ladies hostel, night outs at the library, kuchikooing… As we started talking about the night we separated after college, he gently touched my hand and we grew quiet. Our eyes spoke volumes.. why did we part was the question lingering on each other’s mind… Suddenly he called for the usherer and asked for the bill, my hand still in his. I asked him “are you leaving?”.. he remained silent. The bill came, he paid, grabbed my hand and walked out of the coffee shop….
Random thoughts
In the end, what school you went to, what degrees you earned, what jobs you had makes no difference. Were you surrounded by people who love you, were you able to return that love, during this whole process were you happy is all that matters. If not, then all you are left with are meaningless numbers and letters printed on paper which can be easily torn.
The people you choose to surround you is the key. If you choose the right people, you have a chance at happiness. If the people you chose are not right but you hold the courage and wisdom to walk away, you still have a chance at happiness. But if you choose the wrong people and cannot walk away, you are screwed.
Life is precious, we don’t realize it till we near the end or see a loved one near the end. You have to see death at 15cm normal vision distance to appreciate life. It’s funny.. This whole thing called life and all the unnecessary complications we build around it..
Tamasha
Compromised lives – that’s the movie Tamasha in two words. This post is not a movie review, but an insight into the life that a lot of people live. As depicted in the movie, we are all running a race, we don’t know what the race is about, or what it is for, everybody is running, so we are also running. Are we first or second, or ninth or tenth? We don’t know. Choose your own race and ace that.
How many of us are really able to do that? Stop running everyone else’s race, and run your own? I don’t know, maybe because my outlook is small or because I am surrounded by lots and lots of people who are in the rat race, that I feel that this percentage of people who run their own race is very small. However, something inside me, makes me believe that I am part of the small population that lives compromised lives.
Be yourself – that’s the movie Tamasha in two other words. You don’t have to change for the world, or do things to please people around you. Believe in your wings and fly.
Like one of those forwards, the birds trust it’s wings not the branch of the tree it’s sitting on..
indupatikkal 