Mad wind in the city forces the idle windows to chatter.
Roaming on streets are swirls of dry leaves and paper.
Abducted flowers, abandoned in street corners.
Bending trees, broken branches, birds tumbling in air,
She walks on, taming her flying dupatta and tangled hair.
You are wrong, if you think your children are dependent on you.
You are dependent on your children.
You are dependent on them to understand the purity of love,
You learn to live a selfless life, throw selfishness into the bin.
Every lie you say will shred your soul into pieces,
and you are under the watchful eyes of a three feet soul.
You are dependent on their kindness,
for it springs from an unprejudiced heart.
Their words are crystal clear,
It stings or melts your thought.
You want them to take care of you,
for you well know, your child is purer than you.
In vain we live for long, thinking we are providers.
Until they leave us,
And then it strikes like a dart,
We are them, They are not us.
When they have left for long.
We say, “Gone away is my heart.”
This post appeared here at Parentous
The silence in the house is loud. The void is prevalent. Emotions overwhelm me. I worry more. Words lack flavor. It is a chore to write, and my favorite camera on the desk is gathering dust. I cook for four instead of three. The garden and its flowers and butterflies fail to motivate me.
My husband misses his companion. He hasn’t laughed aloud for a while. I stare into my son’s empty room, straighten his bed, walk away. His wardrobe is chaotic. I suddenly sense an order in the heap of clothes. I let it the way it is.
A few days back my son left home to pursue his studies in another continent. His subject of study was unique. It was not what other kids were doing. It was a road less travelled and explored. In spite of the overwhelming doubts and fears, he stood his ground and worked towards his goal for a year.
As parents, we trusted his passion and encouraged his dreams, but it was an agonizing year filled with worries about the future. It still is. We were glad he got selected, and the smile on his face after many months was precious. The news meant he had to live away from us and we had no other choice, but to let him go.
All young ones have to fly, chase their dreams. Birds have taught us, haven’t they?
I look back and remember his first day at the play home. He was happy to see so many kids. The opportunity to explore a new world lay right in front of him. He disengaged his fingers from mine and went ahead, joined the queue to play the slide. He did not look back, not even once to see if I was there. I anticipated he will cry. He did not. I stood behind a tree and watched him make friends and play along.
After a while, I just wished he would cry, and I could gather him in my arms and run home. But that day, I walked home alone, with tears in my eyes and cried on my husband’s shoulders. They were my first tears as a mother. There have been many more ‘firsts’ for us since. There have been success and failures in many endeavors. Tears and laughter. Abandoned hopes. Unexpected surprises.
In this continuing journey we have learned to trust unconditionally. Encourage dreams and believe in a passion that was not ours. Our collective lesson in parenting is a graphical wave of ups and downs. They are precious and memorable only to us.
But the history of these “firsts” is old, as old as humans. My mother must have felt the same way when I left home for my education. I remember the emotion filled face of my father when I left for my husband’s home, my new home. It must have been the same with our grandparents and then theirs.
In the short time we had to pack and prepare for his journey my son often kept telling me not to cry when he leaves. “I shall feel sad if you do. And don’t come to the airport. It will definitely make you cry.” he added. We assured him we will not.
When the day came, we were all smiles but only until the car moved, turned into the alley and vanish from our sight. We stood there for some time, as umpteen parents around the world do, watch their fledgling fly away to sharpen its feathers. Tears rolled down my face. I was glad he did not see it.
In my book of life, Chapter forty-two reads, “Empty Nest.” It mirrors in his book as Chapter eighteen, “Future.” As Douglas Adam said, “42, is an ordinary, smallish number. But it has the “Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe and Everything.”
ஒரு சிலருக்கு, திருடனை போல்
உட்கார்ந்த இடத்தில் நிசப்தமாய்
குறி தப்பாத அம்பெனெ
சாலையில், காற்றில், நீரில்
மழையை பறைசாற்றும் மின்னலில்,
அன்பு நெருங்காத மனங்களில்,
பலருக்கு நோய் நோவு தந்து
விடுதலை கிடைக்கும் தருணமாய்,
ஒவ்வொரு அறை விளக்கையும்
அணைத்து இருள் கவ்வியது போல,
ஒவ்வொரு உறுப்பும் வலுவற்று,
உள் அடங்கி, செயல் இழந்து,
உடல் குளிர்ந்து, மனம் மறந்து,
மரணித்த சங்கில் இணைபிரியாத
அலை ஓசையை போல்
கடைசி நிமிடம் வரை
உடலில் ஒளிந்திருக்கும் இம்மரணம்.
From where doth it arrive?
It steals away life
like a thief.
It ruthlessly strikes
like the arrow that knows its target.
Confronts whether on road,
storm or water,
in the lightning that announces rain,
in uncouth minds.
It liberates the many who suffer
from disease and pain,
with a relieving sigh!
When lights are muted, darkness
envelops the well lit house.
One by one, every organ
unbind themselves, in stillness
In comatose, a quiet mind, in it
like the sound of endless waves
in a lifeless conch shell.
Until the last breath,
this death that hides
inside the body,
Where was it born?
The heart wanders the seasons of time like wind.
பள்ளங்களில் சூறாவளியாய், மேடுகளில் மிருதுவாய்,
காற்றைப்போல் அளந்து பார்க்கும் மனது.
Dear Boston, we have sent our only son to nurture his passion to your kind shores. Please take care of him.
Doctor N, is one of the best doctors I have met. He was A’s pediatrician. Polite, kind and doesn’t prescribe a big list of medicines. As A grew up and we had an office doctor to consult with, we had not visited him for the past few years or so. But then the immunization injections A had to take had to be administered by a pediatrician. Only they have the license to store them.
I called Dr N a few days back and he remembered us. It felt really good. He enquired about A’s health and his well being. After a few shots of injections last month, we visited him today for the last leg of immunization before his travel.
This time I had also taken the emergency medicines that A needs during his stay. A did not expect me to bring it along. He was startled.
A: Ma, why did you bring these medicines. I don’t think I need them all.
Me: Just to make sure you are taking the right medicines, da.
The doctor chimed in….
Dr: Good she got it. You need them. Saying, he wrote a prescription for the medicines. “It is because she is a mother she thinks two steps ahead. You will understand these feelings when you have your own children,” he added.
A: I won’t have kids, doc. They are troublesome.
The doctor nodded understandingly and said, “Lets see!”
I envisaged him carrying his one year old kid to Doctor N, ten years hence.
“I won’t have kids,” A said after the consulate visit. What has a consulate visit got to do with having kids, I wondered.
“I saw a kid throwing the i-pad away at the consulate. Kids these days are pampered technologically. Too many gadgets have to be bought to keep them happy.” he said.
I thought of his father.
Dear one, I know it is cruel to say this.
Every time I call you “sweetheart,”
I know you are a diabetic.
The heart of a mother will lean towards the child who is living away.