Razz-Ma-Tazz

Reflections!!! Humans understand the language of silence and love

Reading an article on another Blog prompted me to write about my visit to the Mother Teresa’s  Old age home, nestled at Chhatrapur, New Delhi.

My first trip to this happened by accident…  was looking to visit some Friend’s farm house and landed at this place. It required immense intrinsic courage to enter that place…  I had never visited any place like that…  had probably never faced the harsh realities of life…  didn’t know such things happen had only read about them in the newspaper. I was dressed in salwar kameej and my favourite silver bangles and on my forehead adorned a long bindi…  The minute I entered…  these frail souls all gathered and wanted to touch me, feel me, touch my bangles, could see the glow on their faces when my bangles made that tingling sound. They touched me all over as if I was from an alien world. It dawned on me they had had no visitor since long… they all shared a common bond… REJECTION…..Nobody cared…..I left the place in a hurry promising myself to return again with something for them…  left with eyes brimming with tears……..and one thing which I noticed was there were more women there than men….

Woman… laxmi… mother… sister… the same woman must have spent sleepless nights to bring the little one to life….bore him or her for nine months in her womb… gone through the labour pain….and spent sleepless nights to feed her child…  to be with them at all times.. and this is her fate… reminds me of those famous lines…  ‘Abala teri yehi kahani…..chaati main hai doodh aur ankhon main hai paani… ‘
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I love you Mom

I love you Mom…

‘Mom, Please trust us .we are with you in this time of crisis’. Me and my sister sat across my mom trying to convince her . We could sense her feeling of disbelief and distrust as she glared at us through her glasses. The meaning was clear she no longer trusted us… sometimes it felt that she has forgotten we were her children….

I frequently had my little chats with God as to what had happened to my Mom… She had changed after papa’s death last year.

The same woman who would sit late in the night to knit me the most beautiful sweater which I wanted to wear the next day for my school weekend party… the same woman who will give me milk at 0300 am , who would spend sleepless nights during my board exams. Who will not sleep just to make sure that she was able to wake us up at odd hours for our studies during examination time.

I dedicate this article to that mother who now after so many years looks at us with disbelief and does not trust us. continue reading »