Ma

My first hero. The one that smelt of Ponds Dreamflower talc and whose smile crinkled up her eyes has also moved to that place where no phone calls or airplanes will reach.

The sweetest most patient and honest person I knew when I was growing up. Who I wanted to emulate has left this world. And has remained forever with me.

Her pallu was my first refuge and I was so insecure when I could not cling to it when they sent me to school. I remember asking her ‘Why can’t I stay home and learn what you teach Bula? Why do I have to go to school?’ She used to have so much fun relating this story.

My devotion to my mother was more than most children’s devotion to theirs. I hated to see that face without a smile. I strove to keep it on her always. I worked hard at my academics and did not trouble her in the least bit. While trying to stay ahead became a passion for its own sake, I owe the rousing of my passion to her. I was her favorite child. I loved pink if she loved pink. If she changed her preference so did I.

I died a bit every time she was sick. And when she fell sick because of worry for me, I hid my troubles and put on my happy face.

I remember today the many faces of Ma. The strong sweet patient person who held our home together and instilled the right values in us - The picture of calm when others were shrieking in hysteria.  It pans then to the lady who suddenly landed up in hospital every time there was a little stress, the one whose favorite topic was her illness and the a visit to the doctor a lifeline. Such a sea change over the years. Ma had never been a demonstrative or communicative person. Her illness made her more inward focused. I have never seen her weep. Perhaps another handicap she suffered from?

She suffered from that rare affliction Addison’s disease that was diagnosed only 13 years back. This made her much misunderstood and finally claimed her life. She was ironically an enigma to the doctors as well. Over the last few weeks I have read enough on the disease for me to write my own thesis about it and have also kind of understood why my mother always felt sick whenever there was a stress of any kind - Too much happiness or too much strife. We did get tired trying to prevent her from falling sick and often wished she would cooperate. Little did we understand that her trying hard not to fall sick made her sicker.

At some point during these years she became a child and I the parent. Among my four children two of my own, my father and her, she was the most demanding in a very quiet way. She stopped being my hero though I never stopped being hers. Everywhere she went, she spoke about me with pride. She just did not deem it necessary to let me know.

This last one year has been tough for all of us and for her. And the last one month has been torture. But before she fell sick Ma and I had some really happy times together. She was so sporting so ready to just get into her shoes and try all kinds of cuisine. She insisted on being photographed in the snow. She wanted to take back these memories to show her new friend in Baroda.I almost felt I had that old Ma back, the one I had lost in 1989.  I wished I could keep her with me forever. She heard me and stayed back. She fell sick and sicker and sicker puzzling the doctors once again.

All this while my family and friends have been telling me as I have to myself, this too shall pass. All along at the back of my mind I wondered what it will take in this passing. It took her with the passing. She has led a full life and was very lonely this past year. She also was not in the best of health. What happened was for the best, but dammit couldn’t it have happened after she saw the first blooms of spring and quietly in her sleep without that one month of torture?

Of course it hurts like hell. There are these huge empty spaces inside of me. My parents were my children too. All of a sudden, I feel lost, like I have an empty nest. I don’t know where I have to put that share of responsibility and duty that was allocated for them. Sometimes my heart feels so full of emptiness, I feel it will burst. This will pass I know.

I also know from the moment she passed and I stood with my head on her chest after 30 years, she is not far. She is with me as my first hero with her crinkly smile calmly holding me together when I let her. Did I also know when I kissed her on both cheeks and called her my shona ma that it would be my last meeting with her? I never did things like that with her. She held on to my hand and looked at me and worried I had not had anything to eat till then. That sounded so much like my first hero. I feel such a sense of calm between the spasms of grief. I know she is with me then and will always be.