Dear Ma,
Some years back, inspired by Daddy, I started making an album (remember, the big green one with pink flowers on the cover?) of my most-cherished memories, people and places. And so I brought down the vast collection of photographs from the loft and started sorting them. First, I looked for nice pictures with me in them. Obviously, I wanted to make sure I was shown in the best possible light and after several rounds of deep thought and elimination I zeroed in on a couple of photos in which I was convinced I looked nice.
That done, I started scouring around for nice pictures of you.
You looked beautiful in every single photograph. You were beautiful when the early morning sun sifted in through the striated window of the ‘perumal room’ of your birth home and lit up your face. You were beautiful when you looked coyly at daddy, in your spotted yellow salwar kameez, in our house in Chidambaramswamy Koil Street. You were beautiful when you held me bundled up in your arms, eyes dancing with delight. You were beautiful when you gazed into a distance oblivious to everything but the moment you were experiencing in your mind. You were beautiful when you stared resolutely into the camera; eyebrows arched to perfection, your diamond nose stud no match for your inner radiance. You were beautiful when you looked into Velvet, our first dog’s eyes sharing a silent secret. You were beautiful when you were surrounded by people; you were the life of the party. You were beautiful in solitude; you were a flare of fresh fire. You were a free spirit.
You were a free spirit. You wouldn’t be tied down. You didn’t want to leave, but you did. You were meant to be a free spirit; being tied down just wasn’t your style. You left me crying, you left me lost, you left me dazed, you left me shocked.
But you left me with love.
I have always been forthcoming with you about how much you were my world. I told you every day that I loved you. I hugged you every morning. I showered you with kisses just so you would break into your big smile. I linked my hands in yours whenever we went out. However, the last few weeks that you were alive, I was so anxious for you to get better that I forgot to kiss you. To hug you. To hold your hands. To tell you that I love you. The day you went away, that morning, before I left your bedside, something made me stop at the door. I turned back and told you, ‘Ma I love you’. You said, ‘I too love you so much baby girl.’ That would be the last thing you ever told me.
You left me with your love ma. And despite all the sadness I feel and all the tears that flow unchecked behind closed doors every single day, I feel lucky. The most beautiful woman in my world left the world knowing her daughter loved her to bits. I feel lucky that I made you happy. Making you happy is, was, will be, EVERYTHING to me. I feel lucky.
Today is Mother’s Day. I had to go to the cemetery to see you and wish you. I didn’t feel so lucky then. I wished I could’ve seen your face and wished you and kissed you and hugged you and held your hands. I don’t feel so lucky.
I went to the church with daddy today, despite having no faith at all in the institution, you know. But we went anyway because you would’ve loved to see us there. There, the priest said, ‘A family without a mother ceases to be a family.’ I caught poor daddy, now my full family, standing in the corner. I wanted to smock the priest in his face. I wanted to look sideways at you and roll my eyes. I left the church immediately. I won’t go there anymore ma. Ok, I’ll do it till the 41st day of your death. But I won’t go there anymore ma. My heart isn’t there. But I believe in you. I believe you’re up there. That’s more than enough. That’s more than all the divine intervention I can possibly need. You are divine.
Oh and also, when the choir sang the eternally-beautiful Mother of Mine, did you hear me sing in my heart? The choir sang it with a jarring piano sound. But in my heart, there was only an acoustic guitar and my pitch-imperfect voice. And you. I hope you liked it ma.
You loved the black acoustic guitar I bought you three years back. Yet, you never started learning how to play it. You always said, ‘Wait, wait. I’ll do it.’ Now I’m looking at the unused guitar sitting in my room. The cover is off. I’m going to learn how to play it ma. Then next year, my rendition of Mother of Mine will be so much better.
Oh and while we’re discussing new beginnings, I hope you absolutely adore my new haircut! Yes, as you said, the day before you left, I do look very young, but you know what, people say I look more like you than I ever did. You know how happy that makes me? You were beautiful.
You were more than beautiful. You were a beauty with brains with loads of energy. When you were physically alive, you did almost everything for me- right from making sure my mobile bill was paid to ensuring I had all my basic needs met. I’m not letting you off so easy now ma. There are a couple of things I want you to do. More of that in detail later. But to start with, please teach me to be less ‘selfish’ and more ‘selfless’. You know I basically have my heart in the right place; just in a slightly lethargic place. You made people smile. I want to do that too.
While I am rambling on, I know you are constantly worrying about me. Well don’t. Daddy is down but doing you proud. We still do have our arguments, but I guess that’s just his ‘daddy side’. He can’t be wholly ‘mummy’, can he? Mohana and Pattu perima call me a zillion times every day and I call them too. Yes they are fine. Sangeetha and Vidhya call me every day; send them a little magic health potion if you can! Krishna anna and Baby perima too are in touch. Venita aunty has been handling the food and health department very efficiently and making sure I eat, with calls and reminders. She tears over even now for you. Pee kutty is a sweetheart as usual, being there for me 24/7, along with all my other friends. So you see, I’m pretty much well-taken care of.
But I don’t know if you’ve felt this way; when the whole world is at your beck and call and you still feel lonely and absolutely desolate at times? That’s how I feel ma. Especially on Mother’s Day, when all my friends had a mother to wish. And I didn’t.
I love you to pieces,
Anusha
