Maa tujhe salaam
Way back in 1959, a doughty 24-year-old girl from a very rich, and well-connected Agrawal family residing in an elaborate haveli in Dariba Kalan declared she would be marrying a good looking boy from a South Indian uch koti Brahmin household.
The ripples of disbelief were immense. An inter-caste, love marriage that too between two financially far removed families was rare. But the girl was to sweep all objections away with a clear headed flourish that was to signify her long and eventful life of 76 years, 50 of them in the household she chose with no looking back.
That was my mother. She passed away on August 8, without any premise and yet again she was the one who had decided it was time to change course — this time from life to death.
Those who knew her were unanimous that she was a distinct woman of unbending will power and it was this trait that powered the last 17 years of her life in which she was bedridden due to a paralytic stroke. Those who did not know her would — and they did — say it was good for her that she had passed away and that this was the best way to go. What they don’t know though is that if this were to be mentioned to her, she would take it as a personal insult. Such was her will to live, her celebration of life and her way of taking all sorts of debilitating ailments in her stride.
Due to her stroke she had lost her comprehension and could only speak in disjointed words to convey what she needed. Yet, it was her voice that rang the loudest all through — she would not let anyone rest in peace if there was a single fold in her bed sheet; she would direct my father every single day when it was time for his insulin injection; she would regulate all her medicine timings too, not letting her attendant go astray; she would ask for my brother if he was getting late for his office. It was very surprising but she would know if any wrong tablet had been given to her at a wrong timing and would raise hell till we understood what she was saying. Not just that, till even last year, she would remember and remind my father to wish even my long lost college friends on their birthdays, so amazingly sharp her body clock and memory were.
Never once in our growing up years were we made to realise her exalted background where affection and money was poured on her in equal and bountiful measure by her business family. All her married life she lived a budgeted existence coming from my very honest father’s modest income as an officer of the Sales Tax department. She would turn even small events like getting a new mattress (at that time they were called Dunlop pillow and were an expensive rage) on instalments into a big occasion. When she had saved enough money for the down payment of this mattress, I remember how she told me and my brother that there would be a surprise waiting for us when we returned from school.
We returned and spent the entire day jumping up and down on our first Dunlop pillow even as she further budgeted our activities for the next six months to deal with the additional spend on EMIs.
She taught us how to enjoy life to the fullest despite money constraints. My brother and I went to the best schools in town and were told by her strictly that only doing well in studies would get us anywhere with her.
On hindsight, it was one poignant love story that missed the big screen. She was so totally in love with my father that vagaries of life never mattered and my father looked after her so well in the autumn of life that their marriage would be given as an example of one made in heaven.
For most of the 50 years of their life together, my mother never allowed my father to think of any domestic problem and would keep track of everything around him. From laying out his clothes every day to making us polish his shoes every night, to waking him up with bed tea to enjoying a hectic social life with him, he never had a worry in the world. And when destiny and ailment determined that the roles were reversed, my father did not let her down. For 17 years, he dedicated his life serving her needs, giving her company and keeping her away from any untoward incident.
The two were inseparable, not ever having food without each other, playing cards together and giving each other dignity and company. Thanks to my father, no one would dare to get exasperated with her even if she was ever unreasonable and she, on her part and despite all her handicaps, saw to it that my father was well tended to.
When recently, my father was diagnosed with oral cancer and had to be hospitalised for surgery, we all wondered what that would do to my mother and how she will take his absence. But once my father got hospitalised, she gestured to me that she needed to visit him and I took her to the hospital. My parents met in the parking lot as she could not walk to his room. He walked to the parking lot with his IV fluid bottle in hand, sat in the car next to her and shared a cup of tea with her. In her own way, she conveyed to him that he will have to be back and that she would be waiting for him and he gestured to her he would. The 15 days he spent in hospital post-surgery she waited silently and breathed a sigh of relief and slept peacefully only after he was back. We had all feared, but she did not break down, not even once.
The popular opinion around my mother was that she was in constant pain, life was treating her badly and how it would be good for her to be released. Down the years, she may have fallen off the ledge of decision making on household chores which were her forte. It was very painful seeing her lose her speech, her hearing dwindling and even her eyesight fading away. But she would never complain.
Over the years, she had stopped reading newspapers. But there was not a single Sunday when she would not look for my column, fold the paper to that page, see my picture on it and keep it aside in the cushion of all being well. My father, the gentle soul that he is, would tell me gently not to miss my column because she would be very upset. In a nutshell, she was my fiercest follower though she never ever mentioned anything to me about it.
On hindsight, I feel as we grow up we take a lot for granted about our parents and even sometimes get exasperated by their demands on our time. We feel they will always be there for us and we tend to ignore their presence in our daily lives. Today, when my mother is not there, I am amazed how much of a vacuum I feel there is in life without her even though I would see her only when I went visiting to Lucknow.
But really, never give up on parents, howsoever old or ailing, for, in the sunset of life, only children’s cushion of love tells them that it was a life well lived.
My mother told me, she would not like two things happening to her: Death in a hospital, or after my father. Her wishes were granted.
Source: Sunday Pioneer, August 14, 2011
The ripples of disbelief were immense. An inter-caste, love marriage that too between two financially far removed families was rare. But the girl was to sweep all objections away with a clear headed flourish that was to signify her long and eventful life of 76 years, 50 of them in the household she chose with no looking back.
That was my mother. She passed away on August 8, without any premise and yet again she was the one who had decided it was time to change course — this time from life to death.
Those who knew her were unanimous that she was a distinct woman of unbending will power and it was this trait that powered the last 17 years of her life in which she was bedridden due to a paralytic stroke. Those who did not know her would — and they did — say it was good for her that she had passed away and that this was the best way to go. What they don’t know though is that if this were to be mentioned to her, she would take it as a personal insult. Such was her will to live, her celebration of life and her way of taking all sorts of debilitating ailments in her stride.
Due to her stroke she had lost her comprehension and could only speak in disjointed words to convey what she needed. Yet, it was her voice that rang the loudest all through — she would not let anyone rest in peace if there was a single fold in her bed sheet; she would direct my father every single day when it was time for his insulin injection; she would regulate all her medicine timings too, not letting her attendant go astray; she would ask for my brother if he was getting late for his office. It was very surprising but she would know if any wrong tablet had been given to her at a wrong timing and would raise hell till we understood what she was saying. Not just that, till even last year, she would remember and remind my father to wish even my long lost college friends on their birthdays, so amazingly sharp her body clock and memory were.
Never once in our growing up years were we made to realise her exalted background where affection and money was poured on her in equal and bountiful measure by her business family. All her married life she lived a budgeted existence coming from my very honest father’s modest income as an officer of the Sales Tax department. She would turn even small events like getting a new mattress (at that time they were called Dunlop pillow and were an expensive rage) on instalments into a big occasion. When she had saved enough money for the down payment of this mattress, I remember how she told me and my brother that there would be a surprise waiting for us when we returned from school.
We returned and spent the entire day jumping up and down on our first Dunlop pillow even as she further budgeted our activities for the next six months to deal with the additional spend on EMIs.
She taught us how to enjoy life to the fullest despite money constraints. My brother and I went to the best schools in town and were told by her strictly that only doing well in studies would get us anywhere with her.
On hindsight, it was one poignant love story that missed the big screen. She was so totally in love with my father that vagaries of life never mattered and my father looked after her so well in the autumn of life that their marriage would be given as an example of one made in heaven.
For most of the 50 years of their life together, my mother never allowed my father to think of any domestic problem and would keep track of everything around him. From laying out his clothes every day to making us polish his shoes every night, to waking him up with bed tea to enjoying a hectic social life with him, he never had a worry in the world. And when destiny and ailment determined that the roles were reversed, my father did not let her down. For 17 years, he dedicated his life serving her needs, giving her company and keeping her away from any untoward incident.
The two were inseparable, not ever having food without each other, playing cards together and giving each other dignity and company. Thanks to my father, no one would dare to get exasperated with her even if she was ever unreasonable and she, on her part and despite all her handicaps, saw to it that my father was well tended to.
When recently, my father was diagnosed with oral cancer and had to be hospitalised for surgery, we all wondered what that would do to my mother and how she will take his absence. But once my father got hospitalised, she gestured to me that she needed to visit him and I took her to the hospital. My parents met in the parking lot as she could not walk to his room. He walked to the parking lot with his IV fluid bottle in hand, sat in the car next to her and shared a cup of tea with her. In her own way, she conveyed to him that he will have to be back and that she would be waiting for him and he gestured to her he would. The 15 days he spent in hospital post-surgery she waited silently and breathed a sigh of relief and slept peacefully only after he was back. We had all feared, but she did not break down, not even once.
The popular opinion around my mother was that she was in constant pain, life was treating her badly and how it would be good for her to be released. Down the years, she may have fallen off the ledge of decision making on household chores which were her forte. It was very painful seeing her lose her speech, her hearing dwindling and even her eyesight fading away. But she would never complain.
Over the years, she had stopped reading newspapers. But there was not a single Sunday when she would not look for my column, fold the paper to that page, see my picture on it and keep it aside in the cushion of all being well. My father, the gentle soul that he is, would tell me gently not to miss my column because she would be very upset. In a nutshell, she was my fiercest follower though she never ever mentioned anything to me about it.
On hindsight, I feel as we grow up we take a lot for granted about our parents and even sometimes get exasperated by their demands on our time. We feel they will always be there for us and we tend to ignore their presence in our daily lives. Today, when my mother is not there, I am amazed how much of a vacuum I feel there is in life without her even though I would see her only when I went visiting to Lucknow.
But really, never give up on parents, howsoever old or ailing, for, in the sunset of life, only children’s cushion of love tells them that it was a life well lived.
My mother told me, she would not like two things happening to her: Death in a hospital, or after my father. Her wishes were granted.
Source: Sunday Pioneer, August 14, 2011
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