'Member Me...

'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