".... Probably children are the experiments of mothers in their attempt to live hand-crafted destinies of their hopes"
Mother.
What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you read
this word?
Your mother? Motherhood in general?
I am not writing general mother’s love articles but something different that I am observing while staying
with my mother. And the realization is very intense.
Noticing her will make you realize that you still have roots even when you had thought that all you have ever cared for in life was how hard your branches hit the skies.
Looking at your mothers limbs, eyes, facial expressions,
you’ll see the unadulterated you. Observing her unveils your
evolution. Evolution in terms of your development as well as your dilapidation.
She is the alive evidence of your coexistence with the Universe.
In her playfulness, her witty jokes, her smile, choice of colors, thought process, even the way
she poses for photographs, I see so much of me and keep telling myself that she
is like me. And then tapping myself back saying- No, I am like her. Your mother is your source.
Your mother is your milestone. She reminds you from where you have started your journey and keeps setting it further for you at all the occasions till you allow her to.
I see that my relation with my mother is under transformation.
Most of the areas where she needed to understand me are over. May be now it is the
time for me to translate what she never did and to explore those areas where she needs to be understood.
I think adolescence reappears after fifty. I see a mystified (and hesitant) longingness of being carefree, instruction-free, impression-fee, judgment-free, society-free in her.
Probably children are the experiments of mothers in their attempt to live hand-crafted destinies of their hopes.
A child gives birth to a mother. And being her first
child, I gave her that joy. And having said
that, I feel I am the only one capable (and responsible) of making her a girl
again.
Your mother is your child.
P.S. I am still not done with my realizations. Will be writing more about it.
Your mother is your child.
P.S. I am still not done with my realizations. Will be writing more about it.
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
ReplyDeleteFor love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
When the baby is at play, she will not come even if called by her mother. But when she fin¬ishes her play, she will rush to her mother, and will have no play. So there come moments in our life, when we feel our play is finished, and we want to rush to the Mother. Then all our toil here will be of no value; men, women, and children—wealth, name, and fame, joys and glo¬ries of life—punishments and successes—will be no more, and the whole life will seem like a show. We shall see only the infinite rhythm going on, endless and purposeless, going we do not know where. Only this much shall we say; our play is done.
ReplyDelete- Swami Vivekananda