Middle---MOTHER

Mother
by Jupinderjit Singh

MY mother is not recognising anyone, not even me. Can there be anything more painful than that? She is bed-ridden and lost. I see her helplessly withering away.” This status on Facebook of a dear friend shook me. Senior in age and years, he has been a picture of serenity and strength. But then even the most powerful are distressed on such occasions.

I was far away to console him in person. I rather needed help myself. His status brought out the greatest fear I had since I became conscious of life and death. It is the fear of losing my mother.

No one is bigger to a person than his mother. No one is more important. No one knows you better in and out than her. No one smiles at your lies and no one tells you to remain rooted to the ground when you fly high at minor successes.

Since childhood, I had this fear. And no amount of sermonising has diminished it. I often used to cry at the dead of night at the thought of my mom’s death. I stuck to her. And she tried her best to console quoting from Guru Granth Sahib and other religious books.

As I grew old, I read some on my own. I learnt nothing dies in this world. It just changes form. And I learnt soul is never destroyed. I recently read psychologist Dr Brian Weiss and his regression therapy quoting real life rebirth experiences and the joy and traumas and debts we carry to our next birth.

Rebirth stories pleased and comforted me a little. I read: “Death be not proud” of John Donne again and again. All those gave me temporary relief. My fear of losing my mother persisted.

Even now I talk to her about the fear I still carry. She strokes my hair and calls me “paagal” (mad). At 65, she is hale and hearty. I want her to be like that for all times. She is contended. She wants to leave early.

I want to tell her that the womb was the safest place I ever was. Since my birth, I am used to touching her cold elbow. It has lulled me to sleep. It is heavenly soothing. My troubles vanish when I hold her elbow. And it is always cold.

Who would soothe me when she is not there? She just has to be there. I want to tell her all this when she is in a position to recognise me and understand it. I want to tell her that I knew and remembered how many times she slept on a hungry stomach to feed us. And how much she denied herself of certain essential things to provide us education and clothes and good diet!

The need to earn and make a career forces us away from our mothers. Distances do not affect this bond. She is happy if you are happy. I have a strong urge to rush to her and hold the elbow again. I want to go on and on telling her my stories and ambitions, which many, including my father, term as “Sheikhchili dreams”, while she listens with all interest and sparkle in her eyes. All the while I am with her, I want to live every moment. For, when she won’t be around, I would never have the strength to visit our house in Patiala where she lives. Wish you a long long life, mother.

And I wish that for all mothers.


LINK --http://www.tribuneindia.com/2011/20110330/edit.htm#5