Elephant. Giraffera. Balluooo...

Meri Ma

My mother.

I had a lot of names for her, loving names to hug, peck, tease and let her know with simple words, just how much she meant to me. Meri Ma. Mother of my heart.

In her final years, when she was fading, I would talk, enthuse, alight with my latest dreams of venture. I was learning all a-new. Different things. Fascinating potentials. Knowledge not taught in schools. Planning dreams. Growing futures. Disturbing rest, while she listened, patient. Until, finally, eyes heavy with sleep drenched tiredness, she'd seek respite.

"We'll talk tomorrow, tell me then", she'd say.

And I, sitting on her bed, would sneak a guilty look at the time, almost midnight, before wishing her an even guiltier goodnight. She was the best of listeners. The very best of huggers. Warm, tender, engulfing embraces. Stoic and uncomplaining. To the end, I saw only those smiles. She hid the rest.

Every day was richer for her presence. I miss her. Still.

But why talk about her now? Well, I went to see 'Lion' yesterday. It was spur of the moment decision. I wanted to do something a bit different, the day had dragged. So I ended up having a bite of scrumptious scotch egg with seasonal greens, at a wonderful organic place I know. And then, having booked the ticket first, I watched the early evening show.

Feelings wrought, emotions challenged. I was deeply moved. Loved it. But, the mothers in the movie. What they did. How they strived. That look of loss, held close, deep in their eyes. I know the story was all about the search, about the small, lost, boy. But. How they held on. Loving tenderness in their words. Soft caresses in their hands. I know it was a movie, entertainment on view, but, in that darkness, it made me cry.

That's the thing you see. The chords that resonant with us. Our experience of what a mother will do. What she will endure. For her child. To raise him. To clothe and feed her. To show right, from wrong. Uncomplaining, quietly tending, just caring, being mum. Easy to forget she is more than that role. But the nature, naturing part of her, that kicks in when you're born. Come into her life. How profound. If you are of the blessed creed, that has known a mother's love, it is something that will stay with you, beyond that final engulfing hug.

So, when you see a film like that, it's your own mum you recall, who you remember. Whatever those memories are for you, the sweet nectar of a mother's love, lingers. Infusing, gently soothing the trials of this world. That's what I remember, still do, always will. How she made life easier, lighter, even when times where hard, and when tears flowed.

My mother was beautiful. Her beauty, a bright, shining radiance. To my loving eyes, she glowed. But in the years of her ageing, to her, her reflection showed a different mien. Someone she didn't recognise. Someone she didn't know. She'd avoid looking at her face saying those very words. And I, I in my distress, would try and re-assure her, forgetting she was a woman too.

"Look mum. Look. Look at yourself with my eyes. Can't you see, just see how beautiful you are."

And, as she had been quietly suffering, the effects of her failing heart:

"I'm so grateful you're still here with us, so grateful you're alive."

And, she, she with her mother's love would wryly respond, in laughter tinged, sing-song refrain:

"Not Beautiful. Not Beautiful Me. Beautiful My Children. My Children. Me Elephant. Giraffera. Balluooo..."

My life was all the richer for her presence. I miss her. Still.

Being Jiwan…x