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..