Happy Valentines Ma
Nine years.
A long absence.
That Valentines
Day, you gave up your life, gifting me mine.
Our home has
left me ma, just like you did.
Nature is
thriving there though.
I since, gave
up everyone in your life, and eventually in mine too.
I am bereft of
relatives, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, neighbours, strangers and other
people, by choice.
I built my
sanctuary in what you left behind, gating it, fencing it right to the roof and
naming her Ashon, in memory of you.
I stopped
working and socializing while slowly moving towards solitude.
Didon invested
in Asroi, an hour away home, closer to her university.
Remember how
you used to say that if I bought another book, I would have to sleep outside?
All the boxes of books found their final destination in a huge pride of a
library in Asroi, neatly arranged in 6 tier bookshelves.
Duli completed
her required education as will Putul, in May. I promised you I would take care
of them and I did. Let them create their own paths now.
Remember how
irritated I would get with your obsession with cleanliness?
Ashon changed
me.
Just normal
detergent does not suffice for me. I buy chemicals like sodium hypochlorite, hydrogen
peroxide, isopropyl alcohol and baking soda in quantities of 5 kgs and above
just to meet an immaculate clean hygiene.
There are no
insects in Ashon ma, not even lizards and flies. Imagine the relief. Occasionally,
the infernal hardy cockroach visits only to face my isopropyl spray. The little
holes in its body segments take in the alcohol making it stagger before I commit
the murder.
My generosity
allows only spiders as they have always been my inspiration. I clear them once every
six months, but not without apologizing to them first.
I have sealed
all doors and windows and only open the back door in the mornings for the sun
to enter. In the evenings, its rays fall upon me in the hall, like poetry.
Remember all my
diaries and penpals?
I still write,
ma. I write a lot, especially in my mind.
I thought I
would write a book one day but a paradigm shift happened.
When your wants
and desires dip firmly to zero or below, you realize your accolades do not lie
in them anymore. Real intelligence does not seek admiration or validation. I
lived free when I liberated myself from the opinions of the human race. I have
no great fondness for them, though I am one.
My reward lies
in the relationship I have with myself, a power that comes through wisdom, silence
and solitude.
But I write for
you every Mother’s Day, birthday and Valentines, your death day. There seems to
be an overflow of words when it comes to you. Most times I am closer to you in
death than I was when you were living, an intimacy born simply of thinking
about you so very often.
On your death
year, I wrote for you a long entry in my blog on Mother’s Day. I have been
meaning to write again and though next year, 2024 marks the anniversary of a
decade, I chose to write now on your 9th death anniversary because I
have stopped taking my days for granted. My gratitude is for every morning when
I wake up and my reality is knowing that one of the days, I will not be privileged
to witness the rising sun, so what I can do now, let me not postpone to a year
later.
After you left,
both the Ponjika and festivals left with you. There has been no celebration since.
The vacuum you
created was filled with my obsession of solitude. I no longer needed
conversations with, or the presence of people in my life.
People think
the emptiness you created made me lose my way, but how do I tell them that I
finally found it?
I started
cooking but only if I have to. I did not like it then, I do not like it now. I
neither have the patience nor skill for it. Most of the time, besides holudh,
the only other spice I always have in the cupboard is methi (just in case of a
stomach ache). Nothing else really. Ginger is too out of shape to peel and cut, garlic
is too small, and onions burn my eyes.
There is an
Indonesian female at the nearby restaurant cooking some vegetables and chicken
everyday. My lack of interest in cooking is making her richer by the day. Nothing
I eat will ever be the best because you have spoilt me. Your food will always
carry that memory of taste, unparalleled.
I am reminded of you not only when I see your picture on the altar, but literally everything from the crocheted laces to the kitchen cutlery remind me of the phenomenal woman you were. I sometimes listen to the old Bangla songs and think of how you loved songs, music, movies and books. I am evidence of your strength, talent, ability, capability, and in general your life.
I don’t need to leave footprints,
as yours are larger than life.
You have always
been my biggest event.
Mothers and
daughters with strong personalities see the world from different points of
view, and so with us, as always with the generation gap, if you were still alive, my
story would not have begun.
You would not
have approved of my hermit life, of my thought processes and of my bold and deviant decisions. I would not have explored my freedom in totality with and in your
presence.
I stopped
travelling too, ma. I know you will not believe it but well, that was the
paradigm shift too.
You were my
mother for all the years in your life, and my child for the final months.
Losing both a parent and a child at the same time was intensely pernicious and
though my stagnant grief hasn’t lessened, I used your absence as my strength
and found growth in reliance of self, making the journey a breeze to happiness
in solitude. If you were still with me, society would still be the agenda and I
would have still been in chains.
Having said
that, I have no regrets ma, and maybe that is why I am at peace. And though I
have bordered on insanity or crossed it after your death, it still does not
change the fact that for every trip I take outside Ashon, I cannot wait to
return home.
And home to me,
has always been you, even in your absence.
