Mother

I've been harboring a strange feeling, one that's beyond description. It has shades of numbness, love, pain, courage, nostalgia and reconciliation, in random order and I do not know in which measure each of these resides within me. It has taken a year to unleash it.

I grew up with the notion that my mother was invincible, a strong woman, who was the driving force behind my strength, my actions and my convictions today.

From being a strict disciplinarian, to a guide and a dear friend, the metamorphosis of our relationship culminated in the deepest bond for eternity.

My visions of Ma as a teacher in a convent school are still so fresh. Ma was a fashion icon in my eyes. Impeccably dressed, she would drop me to school in the scooter and then go to work. Again, I'd be picked up by her after school and brought back home safely. Once, she was unusually late in picking me up. When she did come by , I learnt that her scooter had skidded off the road at a turn. She revved up despite the bruised elbows and bleeding knee because she knew that I'd be waiting. We didn't have cell phones then.

It was unbelievable, her commitment to work at school and at home. She would sit with a mountain of corrections and iron piles of clothes every day. Some divine strength enabled her to shift huge wooden boxes or climb up to the lofts for weekend cleaning.

I loved our outdoor meals under the winter sun, accompanying her to the market or while she supervised the manicured lawns with multiple flower beds. I cherish the music lessons she imparted, carol singing by the fireside, baking with her and many such priceless moments.

She was passionate about music. From ghazals to rock and roll, her repertoire was vast and versatile.
She cared deeply for her pets and other animals. Once, she treated an injured raven till it could resume it's flight. It came back to her even after that.

She will be remembered for her hospitality, her culinary prowess and most importantly, her rich velvety voice..
Looking back, I think her greatest strength was her ability to adapt to situations with ease. She could be scrubbing the house one moment and sprucing up for a party the next moment.
I really miss her sense of humour; at times I thought my head would fall off with laughter!

Nothing remains constant though..change is the only constant , as they say.
Two years ago, she was diagnosed with end stage renal failure. After that, her health started spiralling downwards with heartbreaking rapidity. I felt someone had just smashed my face against the wall and woken me up from a beautiful dream.
Visits to the ICU became too frequent and the condition became irreversible. At the age of 59, she was declared terminally ill..and the truth was irreconcilable.

She knew she would have to go but she fought back. She waited till she met the entire family during the last few days of her life. The ten days she spent in the ICU revealed her actual strength. Not once did she weep before us, despite the unspeakable pain. Every session of dialysis put further strain on an already weakened heart.

Dad stood through all this, stoically. He looked after the house, cooked, visited the ICU twice or thrice daily, stayed up long fearful nights either in the hospital or at home, hoping for a miracle. We still believed that she would pull through it like she had in the past. Time was slipping out and she was surviving on sheer will power. Her mental strength and agility baffled the doctors. It was during this phase that she would guide and instruct us on how we could manage  affairs in her absence..

She had always been meticulous- every thing from books to boxes, was labeled by her. Albums were arranged chronologically. All the files were up to date . Her life could be a lesson in planning and attention to detail.

She was allowed to come home, something that she yearned for towards the end of her hospital stay. The house had been the focus of her life. She did come home like a wounded soldier, in a special ambulance, on the 24th of September, 2014, albeit for a few hours only. She wanted to be impeccably dressed in her final departure, in her favorite red sari, painted nails and kohl lined eyes..her wish was fulfilled. She had told me , " Make sure that I go out in style.." Her words will never be forgotten and her voice will keep ringing in our ears.

It was Mahalaya, the advent of the goddess. Ma chose her time to leave us that evening, three hours after she had arrived home. The gates of heaven opened up for her . She had proved it again - she lived and let go on her own terms. That was the way she was..a mother who did not teach her children to weep ,but to fight back.

I don't know how essential it is to have an emotional outburst, but regard this as one, for the loss of my bravest and most beautiful mother.
May she never know what pain is in all her future lifetimes.
I am the daughter of such a brave woman and my grief cannot be measured by the tears I shed. My sister and I shall remain grateful to her for the courage she infused into us. Ritual grieving can never cease the pain or fill the void.

She said she would feel, see and breathe through her children. She loved the good life, and I'm making sure I live one, for her sake..

An Insider called Pain

The deepest Pain
Cannot be washed away..
That gaping wound
Cannot be wished away..
Deep down it remains,
That excruciating Pain.

Tears don't wash sorrow,
Else there'd be a brighter morrow
Tears only release Pain..
What have you to gain
If it doesn't erase Pain ?

Often when the voice
Begins to choke..
You sense the surge swelling
All the way up rushing..
Then Pain swallows it again,
Thwarted by a gulp
Into the abyss of despair
Like a stream that loses,
Its way into the sand.

Live, love, laugh, lament,
Because deep down within
You value every moment..
And in its passing,
That little chest is tripping..
Time and time again,
Before you're embraced
By the mighty firmament.

Tears never conquered a man
That deepest Pain did ..
Snug within the form,
Inimical, it lives
As you treat it with
The codeine of tears..
At times smothered and lulled,
Sucked into the vortex,
To be thrown out again
As a man of the world.

Harness the salt
That blurs your sight..
To make your mark ,
Because the deepest Pain
Cannot be washed away
And that gaping wound ,
Cannot be wished away..
Gasp, heave, sigh
As you may.

- M. Neog ( Dew Drops )

A Thin Strip Of Land

A thin strip of land
Cutting through two opposite worlds
A threshold between having and wanting
A strip of land and some barbed wire
With tinkling glass, china and cutlery
This side of the land and ..
A meal a day or none at all
On the other side

A thin strip of land
Between unabashed opulence
And a pride impaired by chance
One knows not of hunger
And the other can only dream of satiety

A thin strip of land and some barbed wire
To separate the best fragrances
From the smell of the earth
A celebration of life or mere survival
With heavy pockets for some
Or a gleaming coin in the hot sun
For the starving multitudes ..

A thin strip of land
With slaves on either side
Slaves to luxury or to labour
Freedom on paper but bonded for life

A thin strip of land and some barbed wire
Thwarting, Piercing, Slashing, Crushing
The reason for such existence
A strip of land creating unequal worlds
Incarcerated by the inert morass
Hope lives on ..
By the banks of the holy river

A thin strip of land that brings home
A painful reconciliation to razor sharp reality
An accident of birth can place you
On either side of
The thin strip of land..

- M.Neog 

( Dew drops)

Vacations at Grandpa's

If someone needed to set his watch , he ought to have observed my Grandpa's routine. There couldn't have been a more accurate way of keeping time . In one of my posts , I had mentioned that he was a stickler for time . So, I decided to write about it today.

Vacations at Grandpa's are now beautiful memories of our childhood. The fun filled outings and sumptuous meals fitted into a well planned routine that stood on the pillars of punctuality and discipline.

Wing Commander M.K Dutt , my maternal grandfather was called  'Dadu' by us . His career in the RIAF and later IAF, took him on an adventurous trail stretching from Peshawar to Rangoon and a few years in Southern India.

Post retirement, he built a beautiful house in Kalyani , West Bengal; the compound had some fruit trees of the likes of Jackfruit , Grapefruit , Banana and such.

He earned considerable admiration and respect from the local community in the neighborhood . There may have been good reason for this since he was known to be very meticulous, disciplined and a man of scruples. I remember an occasion when he came back from the market and sat down to fill in the expenses in his notebook. He grew restless for he couldn't figure out how he had an extra rupee ! An hour of brain storming yielded a probable answer. So, he hopped on to his cycle and went back to the confectioner to return his rupee.

Dadu's day began at 3:30 am every single day of the week all through the year, until his last day. He filled up water in all the buckets and jars , since the municipality cut the water supply for a few hours in the morning every day in their area. Then he would get ready for his walk and be out of the house at 4:00 am sharp . In order to keep things undisturbed, he locked the collapsible gate from outside and threw the keys towards my grandma (didima) who had developed the skill to catch the bunch of keys sitting half asleep at the far end of the verandah!
With the rest of us  still asleep, Dadu was out with his cap, walking stick in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. He was tall and as straight as a ram rod. His military shoulders and long legs lent him an impressive gait . After the brisk walk, he'd return via the daily market for fish , vegetables , sweets and 'mishti doi' for us. Raw provisions were never stocked, always freshly bought.

Once back home, he'd call out from the gate for the keys , " Beee" to Grandma , whose name was Biva and the house was named Bivasree after her. From 5:30 to 6:30 , a few odd jobs such as lighting some coal fire and switching on the water pump and preparations for tea and breakfast, kept Dadu engaged .
Then exactly at the dot of 7:00 am sharp came the call "BREAKFAST!" on the rather confident assumption that we had woken up, brushed and were ready to sit at the table and join him for breakfast. I can't describe the feeling at that moment. Like zombies on fast forward mode , we were at the table within five minutes of that call !

"Good morning!" His enthusiasm set the tone for the day. Then came the soldier's breakfast ..corn flakes , milk , bananas, boiled eggs and toast. The breakfast menu was a constant like the Earth's rotation and revolution. It seemed next to impossible for us to finish our breakfast before an hour . I remember Dadu allowing us to  have our favorite 'Bonny Mix ' cereal that had finally triumphed over the corn flakes ! 

Breakfast done , it was time for an hour of Mathematics followed by music lessons , both tutored by Dadu himself . His love for Tagore's songs and poetry, many of which he had translated into English , made him the subject of veneration among his peers. Accordingly, most of his children , especially my mother , inherited the musical strain from him .

After the lessons were over, we were free to jump over the common boundary wall to play with the neighbor's kids . A bath at 12 pm was followed by lunch and an inescapable siesta. Evenings usually meant a walk to the park or visits to neighbors with our grandparents.

Dinner was usually over by 9:30. Then came the part of making arrangements for all of us to sleep. A large mattress was put out in the living room and the kids loved sleeping on it. The highlight of the evening would be the theatrics involved in hanging the mosquito net with a 6 feet tall Dadu holding a corner of the net while a 4feet some inches Didima was made to stand on a peg table and hold another end of it ! Sometimes, we slept with Didima , on the terrace . It was beautiful ; watching the star lit sky lying on earthy jute mats while Didima sang us to sleep..it was ethereal. 

They waited the whole year to have their children and grandchildren over for the vacations ..we were the little stars they longed to see , we lit up their world for a few days in a year .