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On Mother's Day, Paromita writes a letter to her mother of all the beautiful things learnt in childhood.
Dear Maa,
Remember when there were power-cuts in the summers before the inverter came home; you, me and Bhai would lie on the bed, and we would instinctively close our eyes. It was then, I learnt to dream. And when we dreamt, we did not fear the darkness. We knew that light was there. Darkness was just a phase.
Now no longer there are power-cuts, and in my all search for light, I realized what you taught us, “light is within” and dreams a gateway to that light.
It is light that annihilates all darkness.
From Dad came honesty, the courage to be good without reason or season, and from you came the power to dream. And each of your children carried that immense wealth of honesty and dream, and came a long way. We stood where others faltered.
When life stood on a platter of infinite heartaches, of longings and questions, we learnt to hold on to an unseen God; a God whom we prayed to everyday, irrespective of rain or storm. And thus in the bosom of heartaches faith was born; a faith that no experience could falter; a faith to build your own life, even with worn out tools.
And it was much later in life that I saw God, when I saw little children playing with their hands raised. When I forgave and moved without malice or vengeance, I saw the Buddha smile.
When I sailed across the Brahmaputra in the early morning sun, I realized how finite I am and infinite is God. The first time when I saw the Himalayas in the purple sun, I saw the fragility of human egos and the majesty of God. Maa, I learnt the art of letting go of the human flaws that day.
Remember the night sky home; it shines blue with the stars. Nothing moved, the fireflies would glow, you talked to Bhai about the galaxies and the infinite space, I would sit on the edge of the bench and question.
Only now I know, God does not answer; he reveals his majesty. All we have to do is join the dots. And that moment, itself was God, three people saw passing by in a small town.
Life came to us, in so many garbs, and the trick to survive is always held your head high and walk. People mistake it as success and happiness and leave you alone. I learnt it from you.
Professionally, I chose to be a storyteller, of products and organizations, the best possible way. Remember Grand Dad told us stories of the Mahabharata when we were very young. He would verse every story in different garbs. I still remember the verses of Duryodhana, Karna and Arjuna, before they went to war. All were so perfectly fitted in their own stories and emotions.
Last summer when I re-read it, I just realized life is nothing but a series of stories we tell our self, of victory, loss, joy and grief.
Nothing compares to the moment of despair that Arjuna went through when he gives it up all, and says “whom to fight against,” I know what it to give up all is. And then fight and win it all.
And my lifelong fascination for ‘Karna;’ that man grew in my head. I could never love Rhett Butler or Oliver or anyone. My friends spoke about them, but for me it was and is always Karna. He was never “Kunti- putra- Karna,” he was “Daata-Karna.” He rose above his destiny. I believe any woman will fall in love with him. I did. I always was. I think Karna is someone who can be a friend; he is larger than life, his destiny too intertwined. Not someone you can marry, but love you can, and rage as well. Karna I believe will listen. He is my eternal tragic beauty.
Of people I have loved and lost, I miss Grand Dad the most. In my moments of self doubt I just hear him across the veranda telling us stories, of life and truths. I love the legacy he left behind, of infinite wisdom and telling a story. What a legacy to carry!
I am proud I am a Bardoloi.
Every Sunday when I teach those boys and girls, all I see is you and Dad happy. The room starts smelling of goodness the way it did home, and light flows. I become little Pompi. And may be all my life, I ever wanted was to be a good girl, yours and Dad’s daughter, other things just metaphors.
Yes, I still read two paragraphs of a book while going to bed and after waking, underline lines with a highlighter, just like Dad did, saying my prayers, and talking to God, the way we were taught. Life becomes so simple.
As I write this, I just realized one thing, life was all taught to me, in the afternoons of my summers and evenings of the winters in my childhood. I was a fool to search it beyond.
I traveled the whole world, only to return home.
Happy Mother’s Day. Pompi.
(Pompi is my nick name.)
Proud Indian. Senior Writer at Women's Web. Columnist. Book Reviewer. Street Theatre - Aatish. Dreamer. Workaholic. read more...
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Mothers do things for you out of love, so please treat them with respect and dignity at your home, especially in front of your in laws, and ask your in laws to share responsibilities.
Motherhood isn’t just a word. It’s a world in itself…of love, labor and commitment that goes beyond a lifetime, when we don’t really have a concept of flying the nest and mothers are required to be battle ready to shoulder every responsibility at any age.
As a new mom I too had my share of struggles like every woman, and reached out to my mom for help. Sadly, since she had health issues of her own she agreed reluctantly and was uneasy throughout her stay, which disappointed me. Only later did I know that she had suffered from serious menopausal problems that made her edgy and nervous in difficult situations, and it left me with a sense of regret of not taking the effort of understanding her troubles.
Neelu might have outwardly forgiven Ramesh, but in her mind, which once was filled with unconditional love for Ramesh, there was now a seed of resentment.
Ramesh’s footsteps paused at the entrance of the hotel’s ballroom. Inside, his school’s reunion party was going in full swing. The air was heavy, as expensive perfumes and the aroma of food from the buffet table, mingled. There were low murmurs, tinkling laughs and clinks of cutlery.
Ramesh had not wanted to come, knowing that she would be there. She, Neelu, who once had been the love of his life. Taking a deep breath, Ramesh entered the room. His eyes found Neelu almost immediately. She still looked the same. Maybe there was now grey in her hair and a few wrinkles on her face. But her vivacity, her mannerisms were still the same. Things, that had first attracted him.
Raising a daughter means the lessons never stop, even for the mother. Here is a list of lessons learnt, passed on in a letter to a beloved daughter.
Raising a daughter means the lessons never stop, even for the mother. Here is a list of lessons learnt after the first and the second letter to a beloved daughter, which just needed to be passed on!
Dear Beta,
Today is a beautiful day. I love Monsoons; especially the afternoons. I feel these afternoons are timeless, they can take you anywhere. Such days always take me to the silent afternoons of my childhood. I never thought I would grow up one day. But I did. Such is the magic of time, beta, it flows unannounced.
In the second year of college, Aahil came into my life, giving me a sense of the addictive power of love. It's then that I lied to my dear, affectionate maa for the first time.
My mother’s universe revolved around watering my dreams, making sure they survived and thrived. I could see it every time she secretly undertook a pilgrimage to College street, after slogging at household chores all day, just to surprise me with my favourite book. I could see it in her words after every parent-teacher’s meeting in school. “I know you will go a long way, Mani,” she would tell me, her eyes brimming with tears. I could see it every time she stayed awake to give me company, in my nocturnal tete-a-tete with study materials, before exams.
When my elder brother teased maa about her affinity for me, she nodded and smiled. “A princess needs more care to thrive in this indifferent world,” she would say, ruffling his hair. She would tell me about her unfulfilled dreams and aspirations, during our cosy afternoon siestas.
“You know, Mani, It was my dream to learn English. My brothers conversed in English, like native speakers. They went to missionary schools, whereas I went to a Bengali medium school. When I told my mother about my dream, she said that the goal of a woman’s life was to learn the nuances of housekeeping in order to shoulder the responsibilities of raising a family. She said that educating me in an English medium school would be a liability for my father, and that my brothers would be doomed, if they did not have respectable careers. I did not utter another word about my aspirations, ever. I dug a grave in my heart and buried them, instead,” Maa said with a faraway look in her eyes.