'I Remember Mama...'
Sunday was 'Mother's Day'.
I awoke to silence. The magical quiet of a glorious spring dawn. The day, already aglow with subtle rays of sparkling sunshine, gently caressed the dew drenched grass, warming the chill crispness. The rustic loveliness of the creaking, beamed, sepia edged, cottage on the Norfolk Broads, wrapped around me. I breathed in the promise of the day, carried out the rituals of awakening, and made my way down to the welcoming warmth of the kitchen.
And, best of all, to my early morning mug of steaming, healing, spicy chai.
As I waited for the brew of simmering, cardamons, fennel seeds, milk and sweetness to combine into my favourite concoction, I realised that I was not the only one awake. A fellow guest who had witnessed the sacred miracle of sunrise on the Broads, entered from the garden. An early morning lark, who, happily, sat down with her mug of tea, and shared that gentle unfolding, the beginning of the day.
The detail of these happenings engraved, vivid, clear, and bright. Mother's Day. The love that prompted acknowledgement, recognition and cherishing. I always remember Mama, but, at this time, I had the need to recall, to share precious memories. And, as she had been reading some of my writings, my fellow early bird listened quietly, patiently, to to the tale of 'Meri Ma'. Mother of my heart. As I read the words, I saw Mama's face. The look in her eyes. Heard her voice. The accent. The loving tones.
But, hidden, glimpsed fleetingly beyond the now, I knew there was something, much, much deeper. Grief. Loss. Something more.
' I Am Dahdeema…'
The welcome was not how she had imagined it.
In her years of longing to see them, to hold them, to wrap them close.
Colours. Scents. Brilliance.
The heady perfume of flowers,
Blossoms scattered along the path,
The glow from the diva lamp, as she circled it in front of them on their arrival.
The rituals of welcome.
The oil poured on the side of the doorsteps to purify, cleanse and bless.
The rejoicing in their presence.
The vividness of her dreams had been so real,
She had not thought it could be otherwise.
The house would have filled with mouth-watering aromas.
Recipes she loved to create on the hob, on the groaning table.
Her beloved son was coming home, and with him, the realisation of her blessings.
So much she had wanted to do.
To sparkle.
To look perfect.
Everything coalesced to jewel-like memories, that they could always recall.
Remember the time.
Remember the place.
Remember the love expressed, made visible and real.
Remember her as more than that image whose broken-english had spoken over the distances between them.
Remember 'Dahdeema'.
'Member Me…'
Words she had said then, now so long ago. The events surrounding them, haunt with emotion and poignancy. At the time we laughed, listened and watched, the beauty of happy moments being brought alive. Even captured them in recordings. But, time can leaven the laughter, and, tears, tears can blur the glow. That's what happens to me when I hear the words:
"'Member Me… I am Dahdeema…"
Those were words she spoke, when she met her grand-children for the very first time. Really met them. Not at home, face infused with the rosy glow of her welcoming, loving heart, but in a wheel-chair. Hospital gowned. Strands of greying hair escaping, haphazardly, around her face. In the peeling dullness of the visiting area, on the out-skirts of a hospital ward. They met.
But, in truth, you didn't really notice that, not with love's energy painting every niche and corner. Love's yearning alight in her face. And, joy blazing, radiating, as she held them to her heart. Engulfed, enclosed in bear-hugs that dissolved the years. I was there. I witnessed. I saw. And the joy she felt, we felt it too. Echoed in our laughter. In kisses and hugs.
What we didn't know then, what is so painful now, was that the words would become an epitaph. This new beginning of young lives came at a time when the ending for her was near. A very short time later, two brief weeks, she was gone.
We who were with her in her final days, who really loved her with a life-time's knowing, we know that what she endured, every breath she took to stay alive, to carry on, was so she could live those very moments. To taste the sweetness, the nectar, the promise of these young lives, and to experience, to behold, in their faces, the beginning of the generations yet to come.
I remember you Mama.Who you were. The girl, the woman. The wisdom you held at the end. How you strove. The stumbles. The struggles. The laughter, tears and love. What you gave to us, the courage and resilience in your years of suffering, so we could still carry on.
I remember you Mama. I always will.
Being Jiwan…x
Tuesday 28 March 2017
Thursday 2 March 2017
Walk In My Shoes
The Unexamined Life
"Walk in my shoes."
The words raw, painful, deeply wrenched, flung at me.
"Walk in my shoes, and, then, tell me again that life is what I make it. You don't know what it's like to live the life of a man. You never had to be strong. To protect. To fight. To be a man. Women don't know. Can't know. They have it easy. Weep, be weak, wail, and be women still. But to be a man. To show that strength. To stand and take the hurt. You cannot know. What is lost. The pain. You do not know what you have to do. To be judged, undaunted. To be fearless. To be a man."
I saw the struggle in that face. Felt the hot, hot, anger of a spirit, despairing, alone. And the words in my heart, the truth that was there, came forth.
"I tried, my brother. I tried. I tried to walk that path. To truly understand. In shoes that did not fit. I felt the pain of crippled feet, the hobbling gait, the shuffling steps. The effort. The strain. To just stand up. To own your space. I can never know what it is to be a man. I realise that you can only truly know the self that lies within. But there is another path, if you choose, a turn, a bend, then a change. Your own life, your every breath, is the gateway to that knowledge. You have the tools, the learnings that living reveals, allowing you some insight, some glimmer of other worlds. Forgiveness, compassion, understanding. Step into reality afresh, with feet shod in shoes measured with that fit. Then take the most difficult step of all. Turn around, look in that mirror, and with new-found clarity, face yourself."
Into that listening silence, I spoke again.
"This is the hardest learning for us all. To face what is within us, the good, the bad, the pain, the sores. We can show our brightness, show strength, resilience and fortitude, but it is in owning our vulnerability that we own ourselves. It is not weakness we reveal but our humanity in all it's varying shades. We fear what others will assume, but we make those assumptions first. We give permission for others to judge because we have judged ourselves and found the wanting."
I paused. Thought carefully of my words. And, then, I spoke some more.
"The roles we learn to play for others. Each with a place and personality to fit in, to please, to lead, to follow, to fight, to be what is needed. A perfect this. A strong that. A fierce defender. A loyal friend. All the parts we play, and sometimes, in that incessant playing of roles, we lose what is our own true self. We lose our way. Whoever, whatever, that original version was or could have been. A footnote, a faded memory, to the reality of the you being lived. But when we recognise that we alone can connect those disparate parts, to forgive, to understand, with compassion and with love, then, then we grow and learn. All those different parts, together what is whole, the you who alone decides on the healing that starts within."
I let the words linger, and then, ebbing, drift on. The waiting silence listened. Still.
The Examined Life
It has been said that the unexamined life is not worth living. Once those basic needs of life are met, the hunger gone, shelter found, and where safety and security abound, then comes the search, that inborn quest of life for its meaning.
We see ourselves as separate. A man. A woman. A human being struggling alone to find a way through the mire, the puzzle, the questions that living holds. Is this all there is? Is this all I am? What was the point? The how, what, why and where of it. All those layers, to all those questions. All those answers yet to be revealed. How easy to forget the humanity, the energy, the life, the connections woven into every living thing, that hold us all. Open your heart to possibility and feel the change.
Purpose, challenges, opportunities, that bucket list of dreams fulfilled. Do the things you've come to do. As much as you are able. Don't shy away. Enjoy the moments of laughter, fun-filled chuckles and warm embraces. Take the sweetness from the challenges of growth, life's lessons in struggle given. The contrast between the dark and bright, the nuances and shades in words and deeds. Live what is yours to live, shed regrets and transform, multifaceted, aglow, variant toned.
It is not easy in the face of suffering to follow a lighter path. But to stay stubborn in shades of pain when other choices can be expressed. What is the worth, the value to those whose rights have been taken? Whose road is forced? By living your path, being yourself, you show them freedom. You show them hope. You show a way they can be. Not selfish self-obsession, constantly seeking attention, but, quietly, what they need, what they want, just living. Being extraordinary, in that simple, simple way.
Walk in your own shoes. Find your own fit. You can do the choosing. And with every step you take, just know, you are the only owner of your life. It is yours to dance. Yours to sing. Yours to know. This life you were given. The spark. This is your gift from the Giver that gave you all.
Being Jiwan…x
"Walk in my shoes."
The words raw, painful, deeply wrenched, flung at me.
"Walk in my shoes, and, then, tell me again that life is what I make it. You don't know what it's like to live the life of a man. You never had to be strong. To protect. To fight. To be a man. Women don't know. Can't know. They have it easy. Weep, be weak, wail, and be women still. But to be a man. To show that strength. To stand and take the hurt. You cannot know. What is lost. The pain. You do not know what you have to do. To be judged, undaunted. To be fearless. To be a man."
I saw the struggle in that face. Felt the hot, hot, anger of a spirit, despairing, alone. And the words in my heart, the truth that was there, came forth.
"I tried, my brother. I tried. I tried to walk that path. To truly understand. In shoes that did not fit. I felt the pain of crippled feet, the hobbling gait, the shuffling steps. The effort. The strain. To just stand up. To own your space. I can never know what it is to be a man. I realise that you can only truly know the self that lies within. But there is another path, if you choose, a turn, a bend, then a change. Your own life, your every breath, is the gateway to that knowledge. You have the tools, the learnings that living reveals, allowing you some insight, some glimmer of other worlds. Forgiveness, compassion, understanding. Step into reality afresh, with feet shod in shoes measured with that fit. Then take the most difficult step of all. Turn around, look in that mirror, and with new-found clarity, face yourself."
Into that listening silence, I spoke again.
"This is the hardest learning for us all. To face what is within us, the good, the bad, the pain, the sores. We can show our brightness, show strength, resilience and fortitude, but it is in owning our vulnerability that we own ourselves. It is not weakness we reveal but our humanity in all it's varying shades. We fear what others will assume, but we make those assumptions first. We give permission for others to judge because we have judged ourselves and found the wanting."
I paused. Thought carefully of my words. And, then, I spoke some more.
"The roles we learn to play for others. Each with a place and personality to fit in, to please, to lead, to follow, to fight, to be what is needed. A perfect this. A strong that. A fierce defender. A loyal friend. All the parts we play, and sometimes, in that incessant playing of roles, we lose what is our own true self. We lose our way. Whoever, whatever, that original version was or could have been. A footnote, a faded memory, to the reality of the you being lived. But when we recognise that we alone can connect those disparate parts, to forgive, to understand, with compassion and with love, then, then we grow and learn. All those different parts, together what is whole, the you who alone decides on the healing that starts within."
I let the words linger, and then, ebbing, drift on. The waiting silence listened. Still.
The Examined Life
It has been said that the unexamined life is not worth living. Once those basic needs of life are met, the hunger gone, shelter found, and where safety and security abound, then comes the search, that inborn quest of life for its meaning.
We see ourselves as separate. A man. A woman. A human being struggling alone to find a way through the mire, the puzzle, the questions that living holds. Is this all there is? Is this all I am? What was the point? The how, what, why and where of it. All those layers, to all those questions. All those answers yet to be revealed. How easy to forget the humanity, the energy, the life, the connections woven into every living thing, that hold us all. Open your heart to possibility and feel the change.
Purpose, challenges, opportunities, that bucket list of dreams fulfilled. Do the things you've come to do. As much as you are able. Don't shy away. Enjoy the moments of laughter, fun-filled chuckles and warm embraces. Take the sweetness from the challenges of growth, life's lessons in struggle given. The contrast between the dark and bright, the nuances and shades in words and deeds. Live what is yours to live, shed regrets and transform, multifaceted, aglow, variant toned.
It is not easy in the face of suffering to follow a lighter path. But to stay stubborn in shades of pain when other choices can be expressed. What is the worth, the value to those whose rights have been taken? Whose road is forced? By living your path, being yourself, you show them freedom. You show them hope. You show a way they can be. Not selfish self-obsession, constantly seeking attention, but, quietly, what they need, what they want, just living. Being extraordinary, in that simple, simple way.
Walk in your own shoes. Find your own fit. You can do the choosing. And with every step you take, just know, you are the only owner of your life. It is yours to dance. Yours to sing. Yours to know. This life you were given. The spark. This is your gift from the Giver that gave you all.
Being Jiwan…x
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