Comprehending the Language of Love

ABSTRACT
A series of events took me back in time. During this visit, to my past, a new light illuminated my path. This light showed me how to deal with the regrets of the past, the correct way of remembering the lost love and then led me to discover a similar, secret love residing within me. I am enthralled by this process and share my heart felt homage to my mother (on her birth date, September, 22nd), remembering her(the way He has taught me) for what she taught and gave me.

INTRODUCTION
It was my husband’s nephew’s 13th birthday in Delhi, India. We had logged in for a video conference from our home in US (on the night of September 15th, 2007). It was a happy moment because he had just finished cutting the cake there. But, my mind drifted off to memories associated with the same nephew’s 2nd birthday celebration, 11 years ago.

VISITING THE PAST
Eleven years ago, around mid September 1996, I was extremely busy working hard for completing the thesis writing (for my Ph.D.) at IIT (Indian Institute of Technology) Delhi. The aim was to submit it by the end of September. Therefore, I was racing against time.

A lot had already happened in my personal life that year. I had gotten married 6 months ago and I was still learning to (a) enjoy my newly married life and (b) deal with the socializing and the responsibilities that come as a package with marriage in Indian society. I was fortunate to have a husband who was very supportive in his ways about winding up my work. However, the stress was way out of proportion. Another reason for that was my taking up a new job as a project scientist in the same laboratory (at IIT) within one month of getting married. To divide my day and energy into so many things, I used to sleep very late and get up very early in the morning to type my thesis (on the PC at my apartment). I used to be out during the day working in the laboratory, library, group room, going to the photocopier and PC room at IIT all 7 days of the week. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

I was aware that my mother was not keeping well, because each time I would call her up in between my nomadic schedule I was told (by others at home) that she either was resting or was outside. I was hoping that this sickness was like her other minor spell of sickness/pain, and that she would be back to normal in a few days. With no phone at my apartment, there was no way she could have returned my phone calls. During my last brief conversation with her about a week ago, my mother had clearly said she did not want to come and meet me because that would eat up my time. I wanted to visit her, but realizing the time pressure, I thought even if I would meet her it would be rushed and only for a little while. I thought it would be best to go and live with her for few days after submitting the thesis in September end, with a relaxed mind. Further, I knew I will be meeting her briefly on her birthday which was only a few days away (September 22nd, 1996).

Amidst all those harsh circumstances (for me), came this nephew’s second birthday party. It was a weekend but I was working all day, and somehow managed to reach their all dressed up in sari just at the party time (in the evening). Once I reached there, I started serving and carrying out conversations like a good hostess. While doing all that, I saw myself sitting right next to the phone surrounded by so many people talking to each other. I felt like calling up my mother but then stopped myself, as it did not seem to be the appropriate time and place. On one side, in my heart, I was longing to call up my mother, talk to her. On the other hand, my body was crying for a long undisturbed sleep inside a space ship on a far away planet (perhaps, Neptune), a planet where there would be no soul other than me. But there, I was, doing neither of them. Instead I was carrying out a conversation like other seemingly normal happy human beings (on this planet called Earth). Sitting there purely as a physical body, I was doing what “I was supposed to be doing”.

Then came the September 17th, 1996, I clearly remember it was a Monday. It was the cultural festival time at IIT. That night it was going to be Hasya Kavi Sammelan (a fun entertainment event for the complete family) at the campus. This was one event my parents had always looked forward to and had enjoyed with me the previous year. I was hoping to meet my mother that night. My husband got to talk to my father (at his office) about it during the day. My father told my husband that they will not be able to come for the event this year, since my mother was not feeling well. That night after a long day’s work, I went to watch the event for an hour after dinner. It was a refreshing change, but I was thinking about my parents who were sitting and laughing next to me during the same event the previous year.

After midnight my sister’s husband came and knocked at our apartment door. He informed us that my mother was in the hospital and he had come to take me along. When I reached the car, I found my sister sitting at the back seat of the car, with her head resting against the door. She was quiet. I saw uncontrollable tears rolling down her closed eyes.

While sitting next to my mothers still body, I was wishing (with conviction) that a miracle will happen and she will stand up again, may be for a brief time, perhaps one last time. But the miracle did not happen.

I took a week off from IIT. During that week, I felt remorseful. I regretted, as to why I did not talk to her, why I did not visit her. I found it hard to justify any reason for my inability to meet her, when I WAS USING some minutes and hours for lunch and sleep every day. I was full of REGRETS. I noticed during those days that nothing had actually stopped in the world around me (be it research at IIT or the birds chirping), when I took off for a week. I realized, I had allowed myself to be trapped in the world of pressure and commitments. I could not excuse myself for making the wrong choices. I realized then, that no work was worth disobeying the call of the heart. If only, I had taken a few hours off work and met her, listened to her, talked to her, held her hand the previous week, I would not have felt so regretful in that moment. I felt heavy under regret and sad within for losing one of my dearest.

However, the regrets and the sadness all sank down somewhere deep within me when I got back to my over-busy schedule the following week. I constantly kept on pushing down the regrets and the sadness. I told myself repeatedly that I have to fulfill my mother’s dream by completing and submitting this thesis. I allowed my mother’s thoughts to appear only as inspiration and pressed all others thoughts under ground. After a few months, I submitted the thesis and came to US with my husband (for his work).

BACK TO PRESENT
During that video conference, I felt like breaking down, remembering “those days” 11 years ago. However, I controlled myself from doing so till the video conference was over and the kids were tucked in. I found myself moving around listlessly, with no interest in talking or food. During those few hours, I felt like a balloon which felt tight and hard because it was full of water to its top. This self-imposed time delay seemed like a struggle, similar to that a child experiences while trying to put a knot on top of that balloon (which is full of water). I finally got a chance to break down inside the study. I felt loads of regrets pounding on my head along with the intense sense of loss of my mother and her love. It felt as if a dormant volcano of sadness and remorse had erupted.

LEARNING TO LIVE IN “NOW”
After calming down I sat down to meditate, still sobbing with tears rolling down my cheeks. I experienced a strange sense of comfort in that state. The tears rolling down the cheeks felt like sweeping off my grief, which had been buried inside me for the past 11 years. I sensed a soft, warm and mother like energy surrounding my closed eyes and stationary body.

During the meditation, I saw the picture of Angulimala, the famous dacoit and murderer who later became a Buddhist monk. I realized that if Buddha had allowed him to regret over the past, Angulimala could have never found his peace of mind. Buddha taught him to forget the past and to live in his present moment. Angulimala followed Buddha and started changing his “now”, the moment he had in his hand, instead of regretting about his past. This enlightening visualization blessed me with clarity.

I realized that Angulimala did the right thing and it surely did not make ANY sense to regret about the past be it for him or for me. SINCE I CANNOT UNDO MY PAST AND DO NOT KNOW ABOUT MY FUTURE, ALL I NEED TO FOCUS ON IS ON “THIS MOMENT CALLED NOW”, THE ONE IN MY HAND, THE ONE AVAILABLE, RIGHT NOW. Yes, I should gather the precious lessons from that past, but that’s it. That is the only role of regretful past, nothing else. Eleven years ago, I did not listen to His soft voice within me. In my heart, He was asking me to call up my mother during that nephew’s birthday (party) night but at that time I obeyed only my “answerable-to-people-and-pressure” voice. I should not have done it. Therefore, the profound lesson, from this past is not to prioritize anything above His voice, be it pressure from work, people, obligations or commitments.

The next morning, it was Sunday and I woke up with a clearer mind about looking at things a fresh. However, the sadness was continuing to linger on. During the morning meditation I realized that instead of being sad about missing my mother, I should remember her love the way she would have liked me to, the way I would like my own children to remember me when I am not there. I experienced a strong urge to write this writing about her, dedicated to her.

So here I am, trying with dedication, to make a sincere attempt to put in words, something which can only be experienced. That thing is my memories. A few of the sweetest, simplest and most touching memories of my mother-as a mother, as a person she was. My intention is to be able to describe simple, mundane, subtle yet some of the most significant and beautiful moments of my life. It is these memories which arouse within me the “the mother I aspire to be” each day.

MESMERIZING MEMORIES
My mother was simple, kind, generous and gentle in her ways. She was a loving mother to my eldest brother, my elder sister and me. I feel fortunate to have her as my mother.

My mother had studied child and teen psychology extensively in her under graduation (BA) and graduation (MA) coursework. This education helped her become a more understanding mother (as my friends used to say). When I was growing up, she would repeatedly say, “I understand it happens at this age”. With her simple straightforward words and gentle touch, she could ease me out of most of those turbulent moments. My friends used to envy me and would say that they wished their own mothers had studied Psychology. Now, when I look back after becoming a mother, I think the motherhood residing inside a woman has an enormous potential of elevating her from the level of human to be like God.

She was always available, waiting to hear from me and tell her own life experiences. She was there next to me all the time, even when others would not come near me for the fear of catching infections, be it a common cold or chicken pox. During my childhood, whenever, I was sick with severe cold and cough, she would give me mustard oil massages, touch me affectionately and even give sponge baths with the same affection (without expressing any fears of getting an infection). Now, when I look back, I feel she served her family lovingly, incessantly, like the Sun gives its sunlight all 7 days of the week, all year round, year after year.

During my examination time she would cook the food of my choice (in addition to regular cooking for the rest of the family) and serve it on platter at the right time as per my schedule. Now, when I look back, I think I took undue advantage of her simplicity and unconditional love.

She was always there with her love and delicious warm food when I (and my siblings) would return home from school/college. We would all have lunch together. Each day she would cook breakfast, lunch and dinner, all 3 different meals with no repetition of food groups, during the entire day. Now, that I am a mother I can truly appreciate how much love, dedication, physical and mental effort she must be putting in each day.

There were times when she would leave her food while eating and stand up to cook again as per my demands. This used to happen when I would throw a tantrum asking for roti (home made tortilla) and not rice (what she had served me). She would cook only rice sometimes to escape the heat (during peak summer time in Delhi, India) inside the kitchen. But little did she know that her youngest-child (me) would insist on her making a fresh roti. Now, when I look back, I feel I was very inconsiderate as a child as to make her stand in that sweaty hot kitchen, where the temperature of the body was nearly the same as the temperature of the hot pan on the stove.

She would give me all her boundless support and encouragement when my friends and relatives would tease me about my short height (5 foot). She would ask me to remember, that Gandhi (M.K. Gandhi, the father of India) was not tall, but still he was a great person. She would tell me time and again that, all that is needed in life is a strong character. Further, she told me that character has to be nurtured and cultivated with sincere efforts. Looks and height are God’s gift, beyond our control, but it is what we make of those gifts that matters. Till this day, I remember how my tears rolling down the cheeks would encounter an instant bowl (smile) on hearing those golden words. Now, I thank her for being there with me in each of these drowning moments and for successfully pulling me back up to the surface.

I also remember those cold wintry nights when our entire family and neighborhood would be watching a popular TV serial called “Hum Log” (a family serial in Hindi) inside the warm room sitting under comforters. In that extreme peak winter, my mother would be out there alone on the street, walking towards the far away bus stop. She would wait there for about half an hour, for my sister to come back in a bus after attending her night classes at university. When asked, why she would do that for her adult daughter, she said that she did miss the TV serial and the warmth of a room, but to her nothing felt enjoyable when her heart was worrying about the safety of her daughter (my sister) walking alone on those lonely, pitch dark roads. She thought (from), listened (to) and followed her heart. At that time, I used to tease her that she worries too much. But, now, that I am a mother myself, I fully understand, appreciate and respect her thoughts and actions.

She would call me up in my hostel (dorm) at IIT and talk to me regularly, especially when I needed it. She would give me all her moral support when I was going through a rough phase of facing resistances in getting married. My mother was the only person, who could make out over the phone from my silence, my unspoken words and unshed tears that I was feeling insecure and sad. She knew she could give me what I needed most in those delicate moments. She knew that I needed her words, comfort, presence, touch, food and simply her unspoken physical presence. And she was always right, each time I would feel the need, she would call me home and put her security blanket around me. That would shield me away from all my fears, insecurities and anxieties. Now, when I look back, I feel she was an epitome of love, which is so much like His love, the one within me.

She was happy and healthy in February, when she got me married in February, 1996. After that she had started falling sick frequently, on and off. But she would also recover within the next few days. The imbalance in the stomach or pain in the leg would leave her as fast as they would come. Therefore, in mid September, when she was not doing well, I was hoping that (like all those previous times) she would get back to normal soon. At that time, I was also making my long term plan, that once my thesis is submitted (by the end of the month) I would go and live with her for some days. In addition, I was looking forward to meeting her (though briefly), very soon, on the 22nd of September (on her birthday). Now, when I look back, despite my good intentions and great plans, time did not wait for me to meet my mother on her 55th birthday. The big lesson was that TIME DOES NOT WAIT for anything or anyone.

On the night of September 17th, when I finally reached my mother’s home, our home, a home where we had been nurtured by her every day and night, day after day. I entered the kitchen and found some de shaped and burnt rotis which had been tossed away. I also saw her stool in its place, on which she used to sit while making rotis, whenever she was uncomfortable standing. When I saw that sight, I could instantly visualize her stress, discomfort and frustration with the de shaped/burnt rotis while she was struggling against her body to make those last few rotis for her husband that night. My mother left this world after completing all her work for the day. For this reason, I would proudly call her a “karma yogi”. In literature, KARMA YOGI IS A PERSON WHO LEAVES THE WORLD DURING/AFTER PERFORMING HIS/HER DUTIES WITH DEDICATION. Usually, it is referred for the soldiers who die on the war front, but I think each human being who breathes his last while fulfilling his duties with dedication, whether it is making rotis in the kitchen or fighting for his country on the war front deserves to be called a karma yogi. My mother did not officially get the honorable farewell in tricolor flag of the country, but to me she was and will continue to be as great as a soldier who breathes his last during the war. To her I salute and offer my sincere homage and gratitude.

COMPREHENDING HIS LOVE
I know I can continue to write endlessly about those millions of simple, heart-warming, subtle yet memorable moments spent with my mother, which shaped my life and made me what I am today. But a few of those which I have written (above) and all the others which I could not, elucidate only one simple thing. That thing is a common element amongst love, motherhood, my mother’s love and His love. That common element is “GIVING”. I think it is for this salient characteristic of “giving for the sake of giving” that of all human relationships, mother’s love for her children has been referred to as the highest expression of human love, the only one which comes closest to His love.

I feel there is a conspicuous connection between my mother’s love (for her children) and His love (for the entire humanity). This is similar to the expected ideal connection one between Durga (a Goddess in Hindu mythology) and her devotees during and after “Durga Puja”. “Durga Puja”, is the most important festival in eastern India. Every year, during this festival a magnificent and huge idol of Durga is beautifully adorned and worshiped for 4 consecutive days. In eastern India, people are off from work and school during these 4 days. All they do during these 4 days is worship, pray, chant, sing and dance around Durga’s idol. After 4 days, that magnificent idol is immersed into the nearby river. I read it somewhere (and now I believe it to be true) that it signifies a hidden implication. The implication, being that during those 4 days, the devotees with their proximity to the idol, try to assimilate her image, grace, values, power and actions within themselves. This absorption helps them through the rest (361 days) of the year because thereafter, they no longer need her magnificent idol constantly around them for inspiration.

I have realized a similar connection between my mother’s love and His love. Now, I firmly believe that, He arranged my mother to deliver His love to me during the first phase of my life. After that He had been patiently waiting for me to find her love within (called as His love), instead of missing her love. However, it took me 11 years to realize this profound truth. I am now convinced that through her care and affection, my mother had simply demonstrated what His love felt and looked like. Now, that I am learning to comprehend His love within myself, I am recognizing her love within me. This perennial love will stay with me, within me forever. Just like Durga’s power and values live in her devotee’s heart long after the festivity is over.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
I thank the one within my heart, from the core of my heart for three things. These are erasing my regrets, showing me the correct way to remember my mother and to discover her love within. I feel a deep sense of gratitude for learning these secret, heart-warming truths from Him and to be able to share them with you.

I would also like to thank Manjusree and Samrat for helpful discussions about Durga Puja.

With Sincerity and Dedication,

Gunjan
September 21, 2007