I loved my
mother like I have never loved anybody else. She meant so much to me. Not that
I have expressed it to her nor have I done anything to make her feel special in
my world…in moments when my emotions would betray myself, I restrained myself,
held myself back. When she suddenly fell really sick in 2020, it was disbelief in
the first place. I rushed home from Purulia to assure her, motivate her that
nothing would happen. My mother was brave, her face showed no fear…she told me
about the jackfruit tree she had planted- that someday this jackfruit tree
would bear fruit, it will be the sweetest that we would have ever tasted, and
that we would be reminded of her. She asked us to look after father and touched
his feet in reverence. I looked at my father’s sad but strong face telling her
that he would be waiting for her when she came back.
My mother
braved that onslaught and came home to our joy, stronger than ever. In 2024, we
lost her to a sudden cardiac arrest. What might have prompted this attack I don’t
know and now remains none of our concern. She is gone. I saw my mothers’ wheatish
beautiful face, the face that I have loved endlessly and selflessly. I saw how
much my mother had contributed to bring us up…she was called by many as ’ratna
gorbha’, she raised us with innate ethical values.
I was
surprised how my mother had touched the lives of those she had met in her day-to-day
activities. People showered praises for her patience, generosity, the way she
was always warm and affable. They narrated stories of how she would never allow
anyone to return hungry or empty-handed. My mother as a simple homemaker
achieved what we in our fast-paced world cannot. I recollect how my mother
would call me up around 10 every night after all her day’s work had ended to
talk about the knick-knacks of life. She loved to talk about the universe,
about God. We spent hours talking about our life in Imphal, how I, a class 9
student suddenly grew up when I would see my mother struggling with the
language or with official documents. A time that we both cherished. I would often
be reminded of one or two people during our time in Imphal and ask her
immediately. I would call her when I was sad or angry or disappointed. I would
call her for a recipe. I would call her to say this or that. Mantan’s board
exams were knocking and our very small flat in Purulia did not allow me the
luxury to spend hours talking. I regret it. I wish I could go back in time. I
miss her every minute of my living life. I care and love my father not because
we directly share a great vibe, he shares that vibe with my daughter, but because
my mother loved him. Her last words were only for Baba…and Baba k dekhe rakhis (Take
care of father). She would worry about Baba’s mood swings, how the children
would adjust to it. They never had questions of fidelity or loyalty like
couples these days. They did not go to costly restaurants or give expensive
gifts. My mother never demanded anything.
It is
difficult to cope with loss, to go on with daily work. A waft of wind, a smell,
a colour, taste reminds me of her every day. I have survived and I will carry
on for the rest of the days. I could never write an obituary more so because my
emotionally inexpressive nature held me back. I wondered if anyone could fathom
the depth of my relationship with my mother. I cry when I watch a movie, I cry when
someone close passes away yet I fail to express my love for someone. I lost
many because of this. Love has different facets but sometimes we tend to
understand love in one or two ways. A costly gift never appealed to me, a poem
or a letter did. I have held on to all the mails my husband used to send me
when we were courting. I gave him cards. One day I saw that card lying in the
corner of the bed. I was hurt. I stopped giving him cards. But on days I am not
angry with him, I feel affectionate.
When I went
to see my mother in the hospital, I told her- Maa, you are the best mother in
the world. You have been so good to us. Don’t worry. Be strong. You will be
okay. Something in the back of my mind hit me constantly – will she able to
fight it this time? She wanted to go home – the home she created with Baba. She
longed to speak to him. They never had
that last talk- the importance of this talk can only be understood by people
who have felt true love at any point of their life. Sometimes when he is
pensive, Baba longs to have that talk. One has to understand that one cannot
substitute one relationship with another. And this can never be substituted.
I am glad I could overcome my
barriers to tell my mother that she was the best. Bringing up four kids was
difficult. Completing class12, graduating, enrolling in post-graduate after
marriage is difficult. My parents never differentiated between my brother and
us sisters. Each one of us got equal share of everything. My father’s belief in
his daughters and my mother’s constant support liberated and emancipated us.
Why is this important? Because my father showed courage in educating daughters
equally, that very few men in his time did. I wish I could do more for
them. But self-independent and self-reliant
that they were, they would avoid it as far as possible. My mother would cook
delicious food for us when we went home. She told me over the phone ‘Sosti te ele
egulo banabo’- that Sosti never came. I lost my mother on Mothers’ day. I can
never forget that call. I knew someday that call would come and the moment had
arrived.
I was
entrusted my mother’s phone and I saw how she communicated with people. She had
no grudges against anyone. She was affectionate to all. Her interactions with
her friends revealed to me a different side of my mother – that bubbly, chirpy
young girl. Baba misses her every day. So do we. Love you Maa. I might not have told you this but you have
always meant the world to us.
To be
continued….
