Friday 19 December 2014

A calm Sunday morning

A calm Sunday morning. I wake up knowing how my day will be. There is a knot in my stomach thinking of what could have been- a day filled with a child’s laughter and screams around the house, a day of games and stories, a day of hugs and fights- definitely a day that I would trade everything in my life for. My dreams were other people’s lives.

I finish up my daily chores and look forward to the happiest and saddest part of the day. It is these 2 hours a week that drives my life and living. I grab my purse and keys and rush out the door. In my hurry, I almost forget the toys and chocolates that I’d carefully chosen over the past couple of months. After all, it is not every day that I am allowed to present the child with gifts.

I drive the 40 miles thinking of how the next couple of hours would be. Was it going to be one of those days when I drive back crying or was I going to leave the place with a smile on my face? Who am I kidding? However the day went, I would eventually cry myself to sleep. Every day of my life.

I finally reach my destination. My heart wanted to jump out of the car and go inside but I was very apprehensive and unable to move a muscle. A million thoughts went through my head. Finally I gathered my guts and entered the building. Very quaint and tranquil from outside, the building housed a lot of emotions- feelings of happiness, anger, sadness, despair, and of hope to a few people like me.

I approach the reception and the woman immediately recognizes me. She escorts me down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs.

Room 209, the door plate read. Behind that door was my life, my greatest little treasure. I turn the door knob and open. I had meticulously planned the decorations for this day. After all, birthdays occur only once a year. The room was decked with colourful balloons, streamers, bells and on one side of the wall was a gigantic painting.

And there in the middle of it was my baby, lying in a cradle, oblivious to her surroundings. To the 3 year old, the day meant nothing. Her life was as inconsequential and delicate as the balloons around her. A sharp event is all it took. I carefully picked up my baby from the cradle.

Sucking her little thumb and sleeping over my shoulder, there she was. That was the closest I would ever get to play Amma. That word. Never been uttered at me. A kiss is all I sought for at this moment. A smile is all I cared for. A hug was all I wanted. But a tear down my cheeks was all I got.

Like always, that fateful day still haunts me. My child was born prematurely. For 3 days, she was placed in an incubator. My heart skipped a beat when I could not find my child in the closed incubator section. A nurse promptly informed me that my child had been transferred to the open incubator section and had been taken off the ventilator. I was asked to meet the doctor. That must be good news, I thought.

I remember sitting across the table from the doctor and listening to his explanation of how my child was suffering from a rare disease. My child was not only special but also had a congenital heart ailment. Of course, she was special to me but not in the ways the doctor explained. My world went blank. I walked out of the room as if in a trance. I stood with my palms on the glass walls of the incubator room. The room was getting misty as my eyes welled up and tears rolled down my cheeks.

From the beginning, I knew it was not going to be easy. But I was determined to make this work, to give my child a life, even if it meant not being at her side during her primitive years. It was the doctor who suggested this place, a place that was run by an experienced retired medical couple who have nothing but joy and hope to fill the place with. There were quite some kids here with the same condition and they were slowly but steadily improving. Joy and hope is what I got at seeing this.

Soon it was 4 pm. It was time for me to leave. The day was over before I knew it, even before I could utter a word. I carefully placed her back on the cradle and tucked her in. I slowly lifted out the stuffed animal toys I had got for her and placed them right next to her. She instantly opened her eyes. In that fleeting moment I became a mother for I saw in her eyes a hint of recognition. She hugged her new toy friends and went back to her dreams.

This day was different. I knew I would be smiling and crying thinking about this day for many months to come. 

As I walked out of the room, I stole one final glance at her. And then I looked up at the wall, the gigantic painting - her baby laughing while they played swing in their backyard- a perfect calm Sunday morning.


Monday 9 June 2014

My dream wedding

You were there holding my hands for the one last time, the only guy I have known in my life, handing your little princess over to her Prince Charming. Happiness and sadness, your eyes showed me. I looked over at my man at the other end of the aisle and there he was standing with all the confidence in the world. Apprehensive as I was, I squeezed your hand. Here I was, walking towards a new world. I was unsure of what it held for me. But I always knew that when I turn around, you would always be there supporting me. I gave you one last look and you let go of my hand…

… And I started walking. The happiness on your face was unfathomable. Here was your little girl who was still on her fours a couple of months ago but now had learnt to take her tiny steps in this world. Still fumbling and falling but surely making her way. You had already started dreaming. Though I was a little under one year, you were already thinking about how I would grow up to be a strong independent girl.

A strong independent girl did I grow up to be, and what an inspiration I had in front of me. Travelling to places where my passion took me, doing performances and giving recitals all over the country. It was your confidence that gave me the courage to opt for the less-acclaimed Arts course and with you advising and supporting me at every corner; it was as if a big burden was off my shoulders when I topped the university with my Masters in Music.

I always knew the trouble I was causing you, destroying your weekends with chores of dropping me and picking me up from music and dance classes. But then again, I was too little to venture out alone. And those practices during weekdays! There were times when I almost dropped off these classes but it was that pride in your face every time you saw me perform that kept me going. It was as if I was living your dream…

… Your dream of always providing the very best for me, your little princess. These past few days were a manifestation of nothing but that. Your dedication in putting together my dream wedding!  From booking the best venue to organizing every tiny detail, I could just not wait for the day to arrive. And when it did…

… I saw my mother sitting there with tears in her eyes as I walked down the aisle. I knew what was going through her mind and through the minds of people here. I could see and feel the sympathy around me. But I told myself, even if no one could see; you are always there, holding my hands for all of eternity.

But why? Why did you let go of me ten days earlier? I thought we had a pact- a pact to live, to cherish and to bask in each one’s happiness. Though you did not keep up your side of the promise, here I was, living the dream you had put together for me, because I know this is what you would have wanted me to do.

… And as I walk down this aisle with tears flowing down my cheeks, I just look up and say ‘I love you Daddy and I miss you!’


(My prayers are always there with you.) 

Sunday 13 April 2014

Memories

‘Who are you?’

A pang of pain ran through her. She shivered at this very instant. This has been her most dreaded moment: a moment no woman would ever want to live through, a moment she wishes happened far far  far away from her. She stood there as if in a trance. A sudden cry brought her back to this world.  She looked at the person in front of her and thought to herself, ‘Well, I knew this was bound to happen.’

The person was none other than her 57 year old mother.

Life had always thrown difficult situations at her but she had managed to overcome each and every one of them. She had always understood that she had been one of the lucky ones to have escaped life’s terrible tragedies and she had been forever indebted to her mother for that. However, this was one of those times she wished she did not lose her cool. It is not often that your own mother cannot recognize you.  However prepared she was some things were still beyond her control.

It was not in her control when her father died before her fifth birthday. It was not in her control when she grew up watching her mother work hard to make both ends meet. It was not in her control when her mother forgot to board the correct bus to attend her convocation. It was not in her control when her mother forgot to come back home one night. It was not in her control when her mother was diagnosed with dementia. Similarly, it was not in her control to hold back her tears now.

As the tears trickled down her cheeks, she remembers the good old days she had as a kid. Her mother never bothered her with any difficulties. In spite of holding a job and running the family, her mother always made it a point to spend time with her. Starting with waking her in the morning, putting up with her tantrums of not waking up in time, helping her get ready for school, spoon-feeding her breakfast, packing her lunch, kissing her good-bye, oh… the list is so endless! Those late night movies her mother watched with her just because she said the reviews were good, those weekend lunches and dinners they had in front of the TV, the time when her mother learnt to make pizza because she used to love it, those dreams they saw together of her growing up into a well-educated and independent girl…

Memories, these are all she has, the ones she is living with every day.

Memories, these are all that her mother doesn't have, the ones that leave her with each passing day.

Suddenly, a 4 year old runs into the room and holds her mother’s fingers. But her mother retracts her hand as if in fear. The kid runs and holds her sari pallu and says, ‘Amma, why is daadi not holding my hands?’ Silence. He looks up. All that he could see were her tears and a different sort of fear. He could not understand all this at once. He backs away two steps but his mother was still looking at his daadi. He turns back and runs out of the room crying. She just looks at him running away.


Memories, these are all he needs, the ones that he will store in a corner of his mind, to travel back and to remember this day.