Mama & I

I have been craving- apart from the mundane chocolate madness that I suffer from- for Chai. 

Not just any Chai-  No English tea, No Jasmine/ Green/ Mint stuff, nothing saturated with exotic fruit flavors compares to the magic of "Doodh Patti Chai" (Pakistani way of "cooking" Tea). It was what I breathed day and night back home in the company of my mother and siblings and I can't believe how in this freezing cold I have gone without it for about 6 weeks now!  

waaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!

Pain, Torture, Sacrilege is what I call this!

Anyhoo, its that time of the season again- everybody's falling ill. I was the first and consider myself to have fully recuperated and armed with antibodies (Thank you God)- save for that runny nose. 

Its disturbing to see the babies fall prey to the virus too. Curling their tiny arms around mom's neck and snuggling up with them, their dazed, gaping expressions and lethargic demeanour is heart breaking- to me! I can't even begin to imagine what the mothers are going through. 

The long nights and hourly naps during the day, the absent dads and cranky babies- how tough it is to be a mother I am yet to find out, but the Niagara of motherly love, so pure and unconditional, is flowing heavily at campus during these miserable days of 'cough n fever'.

That reminds me of my Mama. Like to hear a story?

Disclaimer: The characters and events of the following story are NOT fictional. Any resemblance to real persons living (God-willingly)? Say Hi to Tahira and her Mama :P

So I received this email from the MBA office that a humongous box has arrived, ready for our collection ("our" as in the Mr. & I). Since the airlines I was travelling with gave me a meager- no, make that pittance of 30 kgs as weight allowance, I had no option but to leave most of my stuff behind and have Mama send it to me at less than 10% of the price via shipment. The postal office in Dubai had carton options of the following weights: 10kgs, 20kgs & 30kgs. The sender is supposed to stuff all the items in the carton of his/her choice and payments are made accordingly. 

Now my stuff was too large in volume to fit into a 10 or 20kg carton, so Mama had to go for the 30kg option. But here, the carton was too large. She was hard-pressed about it until the bloke at the till told her how 30kgs will give her maximum benefit in terms of costing. And the madness unraveled here. 

She made my poor brother wait at the postal office while she scurried back home to grab whatever was sight- including stuff that wasn't mine- to optimize that 30kg "benefit". When that wasn't enough, she sprinted across to the stores near by to purchase packed food and tooth pastes and other toiletries. Finally, her expedition came to an end (seemingly) but Alas! it weighed 28 kgs. And she was paying for 30! Obviously, that wasn't done. With two more kgs to go, her head was mushrooming with ideas and finally came to rest when she purchased more Sugar- 2 full kgs of it. 

(Anybody in Lausanne- No, in Switzerland want Sugar & Cumin seeds, please do not hesitate to contact me). 

And there I was- wondering how the hell was I going to move this 30kgs around! Nathalie at the MBA office had a front row seat to the fiasco. Without a car and with a spouse who has more "important" things on his mind like discussing the morning Professors' hair colour, I was left to rip the darn cardboard carton apart and make a few trips, taking the items bit by bit. It was war! The cuts and bruises and yes, there was bleeding too- and lots of angry-helpless-laughing (you will understand that term when your mother sends you such a shipment). Just when I thought it was only a Desi mother's forte to pull this sort of a stunt, Nathalie assured me: "No, no! That goes for all mothers!". The cardboard cutter was begging for its life- but oh well, there it was- everything I didn't need and 30kgs of it! 

As for the "journeys" back home- Darwin, aren't you proud?! I trudged along, stopping at every 10 steps to put my heart back in its place, as it was quite literally beating its way out of my mouth. 

And I was finally home and got on with putting everything in its place. Oh "Place"! A commodity that is out of stock AND possibility, both, as far as my life is concerned, for this year (hopefully and not more!). And it was during this exercise when I spotted: carefully wrapped and hidden somewhere amidst the junk- my Chai. And 2 full kgs of that too! 

It brought tears to my eyes, I kid you not. 

How without ever having articulated it, Mama knew I'd be craving for it. How as little as I think she knows the person that I am, I cannot even begin to fathom the Mother that she is. How sitting miles away when I fell ill a while back, she still suffered disturbed nights, her mind constantly spinning around, worrying about my health. How she has sent me a years supply of lentil and toiletries so that I don't have to purchase it from the "over priced" Swiss stores. How she has sent me blankets and woolen clothing because she knows it will take me eons to get acquainted to the cold here. How she still truly understands what I do not say. 

And as I sip my amazing Chai away in the comfort of my tiny studio, I cannot help miss her. My Chai partner, my life partner; in a context I will be able to ever explain. 

This outpouring of motherhood reminds me of the incident of the man who thought that having carried his mother (who was then disabled due to old age) around on his shoulders, he had repaid some of the kindness she had showered on him during his upbringing. And that night he dreams about himself as a baby and his mother. How one freezing, rainy night, the thatched roof with rain permeating through, the floor too cold to lie on, the tattered bed was positioned ideally in a place to avoid it from getting drenched. The sick child wets the bed and the mother, in abject poverty, then lies on it with the baby atop her, so as to prevent him from getting cold or sleeping on a dirty bed. 

About the ruthless man who kills his mother, rips her heart out and carries it to the trader who offers him riches for it. And on his way, with the heart in his hand, he trips. And out comes a concerned voice from the heart, "Son, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"

It makes me think of how Noah keeps his mother up, standing and cradling him all night. How Jose drops her pacifier in the mud and her mother, when running out of water, sucks on it first before Jose can use it again. How Sevara has lost all known comfort with Sevinch falling ill. How I may have left my mom, but I never quite leave her, holding her mind hostage to thoughts and worries surrounding me. 

And how, with all this, the ingrate in us can think of compensating our mother for even one day of the unconditional love she has shown us?

Mama, I have always taken you for granted and although past trends are not indicative of future trends, I doubt that trait is ever going to change. Yes I know, we postulate theories- being the (pseudo) intellectuals that we are, present our views on how to change the world and can ramble on about Economics and Physics for hours but never step forward to help you with the dishes. But I also know and am so lucky that I too am a recipient of that Niagara of unconditional love. 

I may not snuggle up next to you or stamp my feet to get you to play in the kids garden with me or harass the guests when you call them over for dinner or just wail out loud pointlessly, but I am sure I get you worked up in so many other silly ways and you have no choice but to love me still. That you hold the light when everything goes dark, that in the strength of your arms I can fight the world, that you are the fort of hope in all despair, that many a silent battles you have waged for me, and continue to do. That as I stomp the earth, go about my day and sleep peacefully at night, I am constantly shielded by the impenetrable insulation of your prayers. 

That no matter how poetic or verbose I get, I will never, ever be able to describe a fraction of all that you have done for me or how grateful I am for it. I know this because I can already see myself changing my world around for children who are so far nowhere in sight- and boy do they owe me or what!

Here's hoping the IMD babies and all other babies get well soon and give their over-worked and never-paid mothers a long, healthy, smiley break. 

And sincerely hoping that God keeps our mothers in His protection, granting them long, happy & healthy lives, Amen. 

Freud might have stated his twisted theories & Gibran may have crooned his disturbing ideas on it, but I'm going to go with Edgar Allan Poe:

"Because I feel that in the heavens above

The angels, whispering one to another,

Can find among their burning tears of love,

None so devotional as that of "Mother,"

Therefore, by that dear name I have long called you,

You who are more than mother unto me."