Beep, beep!
Message from Mama!
' Oh, no!'
'Why God?'
'Why to Mama?'
My heart screamed.
I tried desperately to call her. No response. Tears hurt my eyes. I quickly shut myself up in the restroom to cry my heart out.
Memories came in a surge. Lingering picture of Mama lovingly caring for Papa.
Strange smell of herbs and ayurvedic oils had been part of my earliest memory. All for Papa's heaving chest!
A nice smell wafted from the pan as Mama used to lightly saute herbs and steam small bundles of herbs in cloth bags. The aroma would appeal to my olfactory. Then Mama would give light massage to Papa's chest and back with the hot herbal bundles. Tingle of tears stung my eyes as Papa breathed heavily.
Mama would swear; neighbours vouch that Papa did not smoke. He was a teetotaller. I was too young to understand its connection with Papa's breathing. It hurt me deeply when Papa couldn't get enough breath. Neighbours said it was due to the dampness of the place or the pollution. But then, why only Papa suffered? I grew up with concern for Papa and love for Mama's tender care.
As a seven year old lad, I hardly understood the gravity, when Papa was finally taken to the Cancer Centre. But it filled my mind with the hardships of Mama shuttling to and fro for check ups and treatment, besides the struggle to eek out a living through tailoring in the night. Most of the time, though I was in forty winks, I loved to sit near Mama and finally clean up the place, when Mama was ready to call it a day. That was my memory of Mama as a fighter!
A stirring memory! Mama made regular trips to the riverside temple to gather dhoties the devotees left after offering rites to appeace the souls of their dear departed. She would wash the loincloths in the river, dry them in the Sun and carry the bundle to the hospital for distribution among the needy patients to use as draw-sheet or diaper. Papa was there in the Palliative ward and Mama knew how useful her service was to the needy. Mama was not only a fighter. There was a spring of compassion in Mama!
Mama reigned supreme like the Queen of my heart!
My most painful memory of Mama! Papa's cancer had spread to the liver, the neck and finally his brain. He lay in sedation, a number of tubes running into his frail body. Mama never left his bedside. She sat near him to hold his hand. Mama's sign of love.
Doctors and nurses rallied round the dying patients, trying to make their end less painful.
A srtange memory! A nurse who always had a motherly smile on her face, led me away from the bedside. She spoke to me gently about angels and heaven and a life without pain. I did not then understand why she led me away from the scene. Now I know that she did not want me to see how Papa's breath became air!
Death!
The nurse held my hand and gently led me back to Papa. Mama was sobbing on Papa's chest. The tubes that ran into Papa's body were all gone.
My soul-stirring memory! Mama helped me gently to become a man. She taught me to outgrow thoughts of death and loss.Mama was a tower of strength, teaching me to remain focused. Never choose fame and name! She convinced me that wealth and comfort and fame mattered little. What really mattered in life was our own real self. Character! What a lesson from my Queen!
My best memory of Mama!
'Knock on every door for the best.'
Mama persevered to open the best institutios for me to go to heights. Resources flowed in. Her dream came true. I finally landed in the IAS Cadre!
Mama was never vainglorious.She continued her service as a volunteer in the Palliative Care of the same hospital, where Papa spent his last days. Never stopped collecting dhoties from the riverside temple for patients to use as bed linen. Mama's nobility!
'But why, God? '
'Why a bitter end for Mama?'
' I am far from home , serving the Nation in its fight against Covid19.'
' I am far away from Mama in her suffering.'
Mama fighting Covid19.
'Will Mama win the fight?'
' Mama the fighter, Mama the Queen of my heart!'
