Life without Mom
is unimaginable. Me being only child born late into the marriage, Mom was
extremely protective of me. And I was obsessively possessive about her. I have
never liked sharing Mom with anyone, howsoever remote. An introvert and
unsocial child, Mom was my best friend. She seemed to know exactly what was
going on in my mind, and I could never any keep secrets from her.
At 17, when she
came to drop me off at the law school hostel, both of us were overwhelmed with
emotions. I wept because I knew I couldn’t manage without her. She wept because
she knew that right from that moment, I will learn how to manage without her. Till
then, I had never spent a single night without her by my side, and it took me
quite some time to adjust to the hostel life. Yet, in spite of the distance
between us, she knew each and every detail of my life - my friends, my crushes,
my boyfriends, absolutely everything. She had this innate quality in her to
draw up the character of any person just by listening to the details I provided.
And more often than not, she was right.
I finished
college, started working, married, and raised a family of my own. Yet, Mom
remained the numero uno star in my life.
If I had nothing to do, I called her up. If I felt lonely at 3 am in the night, I
called her. Any kind of trouble, be it office, home or friends, Mom was my savior.
Any kind of gossip, I had to tell her. Any kind of trouble, I had to seek her
opinion. I had this firm belief that my problems vanished as soon as I told
Mom.
And then,
suddenly, Mom passed away. On the second day of being admitted to the hospital.
The night before, I had been shit scared on hearing that she was not well. She
had assured me, joking that she would give me enough warnings before she died,
and that I would get the feelers about her death. But all I got was a call from
Dad, asking me not to cry. In fact, I had spoken to her minutes before, and all
she told me was that she was feeling sleepy. She did not tell me she was going
away. She knew I would be devastated. Even in her last moments, Mom shielded me
from the unbearable pain. For the brief little moments that she could.
Shell-shocked as
I was, I did not know how to react. I could not even cry. I felt numb. Almost
fifteen minutes later, I regained my senses and called up my husband. What
happened thereafter, I do not remember. Except that we rushed home.
And there she
was, dressed as a bride, garlanded, vermilion aplenty, sleeping peacefully. I
simply could not believe my eyes. It could not be. It simply wasn’t true. How could
Mom die?? Moms don’t die. And my Mom is immortal. I do not remember how long I sat
there beside her, stroking her face, touching her bosom, trying to feel her Midas touch. I suddenly felt a hand on
my shoulder, and I realized that Dad was sitting beside me, sobbing bitterly. My
strong-willed, tough Dad, my hero, wept like a child, inconsolable. Exactly at
this moment, the reality sank in. Mom is gone. And I have to protect Dad now.
Strangely, I could not cry after that. All I could think of was providing
comfort to Dad.
Rest of the week
passed in a haze. A plethora of rituals, phone calls, attending to relatives
inquiring about Mom’s sudden death, I felt like I have grown up once again. Not
to mention the array of questions.
“Will you take
Uncle with you to Mumbai?”
“What will you
do about the house? Will you rent it or will you sell it?”
“Is Uncle
suffering from depression? Please take care of him.”
“What will
happen to your ancestral property? How will you be able to sell it?”
I wanted to
scream out loud, “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. I have never known.”
At times, I felt
angry, very angry, at Mom. Why did she leave us so suddenly? Why didn’t she
give us the answers before she left? What am I supposed to do now? Can’t she
visit us after death? At least leave hints for us? How can she abandon us like
this?
In the initial
days, I longed to be alone, so that I could cry to my heart’s content. I missed
my Mom terribly. But as days passed, the throbbing pain gave way to an immense fear.
Will I be able to take care of Dad? What if I lose him too? Will he be able to
adjust with us in Mumbai? What will I do if he doesn’t?
Now, twenty days
after Mom has left us, I still miss her every second. But it is easier now, to
talk about her without breaking down. At some moments, I have this very
powerful urge to cry, but at other moments I can also think about the other
mundane things in life.
With us
travelling to Mumbai tomorrow, I am filled with hope that I will be able to
take care of Dad in the best possible way. I still talk to Mom’s pictures on my
phone. Even though she does not answer, I know she is up there, listening,
smiling.
