Hallowed pillar of strength

Years back I decided to become a journalist with the full support of my mother, I had decided that whenever I would write my first article it would be on her. I wished to tell the world about a woman who had selflessly done so many things for her kids; her struggles in life and for a better life for her children; her efforts to pursue the house help, so that she agrees to educate her daughter; to persuade the people of our neighborhood to help keep the surroundings clean; her efforts to check monkey menace in my home town; her personality; her beauty, her charming behavior and high spirit in life; her will power and presence of mind, when all the aunties would get confused due to the chaos after an accident and she would be the first one to call the doctor and do the first aid... A well-educated and knowledgeable woman.

Little did I know that by the time I was ready to join the profession, she would have been attacked by the deadly disease, giving a different direction to my first write-up. She had once, in her last days, asked me, "Will you write an article – on me??"

A Happy Mother's Day to her:

I used to marvel at her ability. She almost always sensed it when I was stressed, as if she could scan my mind. But that was when she was intuitive enough before cancer ravaged her colon and gradually destroyed her liver and other vital parts.

My mother was a homemaker at heart, for whom home and the family took precedence over all other things. But there was an activist side to her as well, when she took a stand on issues, whether concerning the area we were living in, herself or her children.

Our home was a perfect example of a mini-democratic setup and mom always used to discuss every minute point. She was expressive and well informed and for us in the family, she was the pillar of strength.

But cancer changed all that in the last three years of her life. Though she tried every bit to be as lively as she could be in those years, she had wandered to a far-off space and time we could not fathom, to another world, where we did not belong.

As the disease progressed, every day brought in changes in her personality, some alarming, others agonising to watch, but all those took away the charm and the bubbly smile from her face.

The doctors had prepared us for a time when her movements would be restricted because she would not have much stamina left in her body. But when that did happen and she was just lying on her bed staring at me with emptiness in her eyes, it crushed me, to say the least. It was a moment of complete helplessness.

I have yet to come to terms with the loss of that beautiful relationship, which I have realised could never be matched. I miss the ardent chats that we had, our stirred up arguments and the countless times I would turn to her for her view on topics.

I tried desperately to read her mind. As I sat by her bed and watched her gaze vacantly at me, I searched for that tender smile that flashed across her face and was gone in a split second. It spoke a thousand words to me.

What was unbearable, however, was to see the woman once always in charge, who could outstrip anybody with her wisecracks, bound to her bed and not comfortable to give voice to her needs. Her basic functions were taken care of by us in the last months of her life.

When I fed her, bathed her, dressed her up and tucked her into bed, I grieved over the role reversal - of acting as mother to her. Memories rush past my mind like snapshots. I could recall her rock-solid presence in my life, fostering and empathising and sometimes warning me of the troubles, as I slipped into adulthood. And then came her distress and despair as her life was perturbed due to cancer.

There was an air of dignity about her. Though she was restricted to her bed, she battled the disease with fortitude and no resentment. It was a life-changing experience for me. I learnt calmness and drew inspiration from her trust in God as she withered away.

My mother lost her battle against colon cancer that ranks fourth worldwide in occurrence and deaths. Last year, we tearfully bade adieu to her.


(http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/20100617/edit.htm#5) Published in the 'Middle' section of The Tribune, Chandigarh