The other factor

She sits at her desk, tired and stressed. And unsure. This was so not how she had planned to go about this, but when does life grant anyone that simple pleasure?  She has just finished praying and is waiting - the intentness building up. Her stomach feels like jelly and her head is hurting, the fever is on the rise and her breathing is shallow, the open window lets in the cool morning breeze, she shivers and blinks at twice her normal speed as she wonders if she is truly ready. The inaudible prayers on her lips don’t stop, she wants His blessing in this. 

She can conjure up a thousand different reasons for her unsteady heart, and her wavering hands – she hasn’t been keeping well, she’s got other worries on her mind, she’s dealing with family issues, she’s not prepared enough, it’s her first exam with this institute, she wants more time, she just wants to do well, all the above – she is the queen of excuses, but she knows she’s just pacifying herself and it doesn’t do much good.

 Because she’s given enough exams, enough interviews, and been enough times on stage to know this is just routine to her, only stronger in the essence that this is now, because no amount of experience or confidence or preparation actually helps with the anticipation. Because it’s never really the same.  

She stares at the screen, just a click away from that exam she’d been so eager to give, but right now, she is in two minds. And she can’t comprehend why. She’s prayed and prepared and studied most of the night, she’s done everything she could. This was the end of her rope, she would normally just go ahead and pick the cards, let fate decide the rest.  Apparently not today though.  

She closes her eyes as her silent prayers become nearly vehement. She wants to hold them in, but they spill out anyways, irrational fears push stronger and the fruitless anguish burdens her. She would give anything to be able to get a grip on herself. Her tears are for the ease of the exam, for her to have the benefit of her knowledge, to experience contentment of the cause she’s serving. She spills for the parents she feels she’s burdening, for the teachers she feels she has let down, for the turmoil in her heart regarding her knowledge, for her lack of action on it, for the friends she fears she’ll lose, for the burden of the sins, for hope of forgiveness,  above all for herself – for not being strong enough.

She feels a warm breath on her, that smell or perhaps the familiarity of that smell engulfs her. She feels a hand on her head, the hand that has always been a guide, the hand that has worn itself out raising her, the hand that has caressed her so many times, and the very touch is a blessing. She realizes how terribly she’s missed it and she almost leans into the comfort of the touch. She doesn’t want to seem unstable or indecisive, she’s grown up and mature and doesn’t need taking care of. The touch heals her nevertheless. She sits up straighter in protest, and a kiss is dropped on her head and that feeble heart is steady and her fingers aren’t shaking anymore, she’s taking deeper breaths. The determination takes hold. 

She wants to linger in the moment because it’s been a while since her mom has shown such blunt affection. She knows her mother’s prayers are always with her, but in this moment she has experienced the fleeting mirage of being loved, and it reminds her of days gone by when she was not so much of a burden upon them.  Her tears dry up and she thrives in that loving gaze and she feels confident. It lifts her spirits. It makes her smile. The dawn seems beautiful – she says one last prayer – for her parents.

She clicks that button she’s been staring at for the past half an hour.

And she hopes it goes well.

Justified

She doesn't understand why her mom is becoming like this. She hopes its not her fault. She tries to think if she has done something wrong, but she can't recollect. After the baby was born mummy had been going through a very common cause of post partum depression and unknowingly let of all the steam on the helpless 4 year old. It scared her, kind of, every time mummy overreacted for something small. But it was ok since mummy always made up for it later with longer goodnight stories and butterfly kisses and even chocolates before bed. Sometimes she wonders if it's the baby's fault - she loves that baby brother of hers and its hard to imagine that bundle of tears and softies doing anything wrong. But it's ok because at the end of the day mummy still kisses her goodnight like always. 

She cries, not because mummy scolded her but because she doesn't understand which rule to follow. She only talked rudely to the uncle because he was teasing her brother. It was bad of him to do that - but mummy said that you must always respect elders. But mummy also said to always watch out for the baby brother , to never let others trouble him. And that she took more seriously than anything else. It was the most mature thing she could do at that age.  But it's ok because mummy explains the matter later to her in clear spelt words. 

She's not happy when mummy and daddy announce another baby coming in a few months. She remembers what had happened the last time there was a baby in the house. Not to mention the distribution of the already reduced minimal attention she craves from her parents. But her parents seem very happy so she thinks it will be ok just like last time.

The day the baby comes she is super depressed because mummy has already been in the hospital for 2 days now and she hates the friends house she and her brother have been staying, just because it's not home. She had also been praying fervently for a sister but daddy said it was another brother so she wasn't very happy about it either. Still she decides its ok because there is nothing she can do about it.

She's even more irritated when she finds out the baby is colicky and that the doctors had to cut and stich up her mum's entire tummy when the baby was born. She worries that mummy will not heal so she helps as much as a 9 year old can. When mummy shouts and over reacts and more than occasionally neglects she understands it's because mummy is in a lot of pain. She starts helping in the kitchen and vacuuming and she tires faster than before but it's ok because she over hears mummy telling her friends that her daughter is an angel. It makes her happy to know that she is useful and can help her mummy. She smiles because she thinks now she is all growed up. 

She can't sleep at night because the baby wakes up wailing. She names the baby Dino because the baby starts crying with the loudest vocals she has ever heard- just like a dinosaur. One day when mummy is really tired, Dino wakes up and starts roaring. She tiptoes into the hall where mummy has quite literally fallen asleep. She doesn't want to bother mummy so she goes and picks up Dino and he's soft and smells of baby powder and it touches a cord in her memory and just like that she starts rocking him and humming and walking around the room inspite of mummy's constant reminder that she must only sit with the baby in her lap. And when Dino stops crying and starts smiling she feels great and she knows he is never going to be Dino again because this moment has made her the big sister again - Just like the last time she had a baby brother. And all the work she does and the tired she feels is worth it because when she turns around with a rocking baby in her arms she expects mummy to shout at her for being reckless , but mummy has tears in her eyes as she kisses her and says your brothers are lucky you are their big sister.

She's upset when mummy is trying to teach her something in the kitchen and is getting restless. She can't learn the way mummy wants to teach and mummy can't teach the way she wants to learn. She is growing up and she and mummy have more than just a few strings out of place. She feels like mummy has become distant to her, she feels doubt and rebellion take root in her heart - but she knows it's not mummy's fault, its her own hormones so she shuts her mouth and doesn't answer back a word no matter what mummy says or does - even though in her head she enacts out a completely different scenario. She wonders if things will remain the same by the time her hormones are normal. There are times when she thinks that she will never grow up and be like her mummy - But it's ok - for now - because she has learnt to maneuver around her mummy - be invisible except when needed.

She sees her mummy through a series of health issues and is always by her side. And she is the one who has to face mummy's mood swings. Obviously it stings but she knows it's a psychological issue with most people who have health troubles. Sometimes she wonders if it really is the hormones or if it is just the fact that mummy needs to let out the frustration-you know like mind over matter, taking control of your actions instead of allowing the hormones to rule the head. She says it's ok because in her religion a mother is the one deserving the highest degree of respect regardless of how the mother behaves with you. And really she loves and adheres to that concept like her life depended on it.

Now that she has really 'growed' up and she and mummy have had the ultimate heart to heart girl talks and complete chic-flick moments and now that she knows the story she calls her mom's life, she understands - better than ever before - that she has all along been the punching bag, in essence, the rock in her mummy's life. It makes her feel humbly great, or greatly humbled or something like that. All those times, all the hurt, she thinks was ok because atleast it spared her brothers from the wrath she faced, because were they in her place they would not have been strong about it, they would never have been patient enough, it might have broken their family apart.

She understands her mom's words now - just like angels never doubt God's judgement or decision, regardless of how they feel, they follow orders, they do not question and above all they love their master relentlessly - she had been mummy's little angel - in every sense of the word. She thinks back and tears fill up her eyes because she thinks of how imperfectly perfect it was - it almost trips her by surprise - and because there is another secret she will never share. She had mummy all to herself before those brothers were ever born and mummy had never been as sweet as that or as loving as that to either of them - because she will always be the first child, the first joy in their lives, the first answer to their prayers. She was given attention and love and pampering for so many years more than her brothers and nothing - absolutely no amount of hurt she faced the rest off her life and none of that attention she desired but never received - will ever compare to those times when she had her parents all to herself. She remembers vividly the treats, the piggyback rides, the caressing, the kisses, the goodnight stories, the tickling fights, the fussy eating, the long drives to the places they wanted to show her,  the pride in their acknowledgement of her- she remembers her parent's laughter from those days, their touch, the way they smelled, the things they did - everything. Sometimes she thinks these memories she has of her parents from before life lifted its fairytale facade over her, memories her brothers will never have, the things she knows about them, the way she has seen them - they are a loaded diamond mine that she will never share not even with her brothers. Maybe it makes her selfish but her secrets with them - they are hers to keep, and try as she may she could never completely explain to her brothers  these memories - & they make up for everything she feels she missed out on later.

And now when she thinks back on her life - she realises her life wasn't just ok - it was justified.

So much to learn – so little time

4:45 – I run to the kitchen to make tea.

I tiptoe into her room, place the tea cup on the dressing table. She moves a little but doesn’t wake up. I take a quick look at the clock on the wall- its dot 5. Thank god.

  She sleeps like a peaceful child. And that’s all I pray for her, to lead a peaceful life, to not have any more drama is her life- because she’s seen enough & it’s only fair that, now, she gets to see content days .

 I used to believe in the Chinese curse “may you live in interesting times” and she used to refuse vehemently. I have grown up to believe it too.- because she taught me to never ask for something that could break you,  that “interesting times” would also be hard and trying – and of course I learned it the hard way.

 My mother  and I are poles apart – we are like fire and ice, and as a rebellious teenager, I would often swear  that I would be nothing like her when I grew up , but here I am today – a subtle replica of her , a forgery of the same woman with, say, the signature of my father  on me.

5:10 –  mummy.

she’s not getting up inspite of me calling out to her, day well-spent  taking its toll. So I nudge her gently. She always told me to wake up my brothers from sleep in a gentle manner – something I never did earlier (and I think they didn’t deserve it).  Waking up to a new day – it isn’t nice to wake up to someone yelling at you to hurry up.

5 :15 – mummy utho na. (mom wake up)

One of the things my mom and I never agreed on is the concept of retaliations , the joy of sweet revenge. I have always believed in a tooth for a tooth, but she believes in overlooking, then making sure it’s not getting out of hand, if yes - intervene , if not - forgive. 

She always told me that if you forgive easily – people might take advantage, they will think you won’t mind just because you don’t say it out loud and make a fuss of it.  Still  forgive.

Her heavy figure breathing serenely, composed in the confines of her blanket, a safe haven. It seems silly, but I find peace when I see her all calm and tension-free. The gratitude I feel for her – I can never express it in words or deeds. She seems lost in her dreams. Dreams I hope she gets to see, I wonder why I don’t know what she dreams of. I think hard and see a flash-back of her saying “ a parent’s biggest dream is to see their child grow up and be a good honest person- to know that they have raised their kid well.” I hope I can live up to her dream – and be the person I want to be at the same time.

5:40 -  Finally after all the nudging  she wakes up. 

Kitne baar bola hai beta, paaanch baje utha do, lekin nai, tumko laptop se fursat mile tab na. ab kitne der ho gayi, aao kitchen mein aur help karo.(how many times do i have to tell you wake me up early but of you leave your laptop then only you will have the time to think about other things, now its so late come and help me in the kitchen.)

 I can just laugh at this daily dose of love, and hope I can be at least half the mom she is. When and if, I have kids – I want them to know her , to spend time with her and to learn from her.