Mummy,

It is my firm belief that life is an amazing journey, and you were an adept traveler.  

In this journey, sometimes we encounter roller-coasters, at times see-saws, and sometimes there are twists and turns galore. In this fast paced melee, or rather whirlwind, many an incident, places and above all, people, whom we encounter along the way, are forgotten, or get lost. Several times they are left out by the human penchant to use only a miniscule part of their memory, which, either deliberately, or otherwise, excludes sacrifice and dedication, especially one’s parents. That is when we begin to take everything for granted, and as we move along, mists shroud them- to be lost for a long, long time or perhaps, forever.

Friends,

I must have been in my early teens, when one of my cousins asked me rather nonchalantly on how much I recollected my accident as a toddler. Frankly, nothing, I replied, as I was just about 2-3 years of age at that time, as someone had once told me.

I asked him to elaborate a bit, and extrapolated it with my thoughts.

Well, it all happened in my maternal grandmother’s- whom we lovingly addressed as Wadi Mummy in Panjabi, or Elder Mother- house. Being inquisitive and restless from a very early age (as I am even now, when I happen to be on the wrong side of fifty), most of the time I was running across the length and breadth of the sprawling house, creating a ruckus. I was confident of the strength and balance of my fast developing legs.  During one such mischief, which was to prove ominous, I wandered towards the kitchen. Normally, the door of the kitchen, where I was loitering viz. along the aisle, was always locked. There was only one access, which opened from the other side.

But unfortunately, on that fateful day, the domestic help had kept the door ajar from the aisle side as well. Like a true Prince- my Nome de plume- I sauntered in. It was biting cold in Delhi. So, to augment the requirement of hot water- due to the guests who had descended onto granny’s house, post her six months sojourn in what was then West Germany, to meet my Maasi (mummy’s elder sister) – along with the geysers, kerosene stoves/LPG hotplates were put into service. One stove was carelessly placed on the floor by the domestic help, even as the extended family fawned on Wadi Mummy.

And it was into this bowl of boiling water that I fell.

Obviously, I don’t remember anything of that incident, first, due to my age, and second, as nothing was shared with me- neither by my doting parents, nor by my protective, elder brother.

Mummy

When I confronted you as to why you had shielded me from this for so many years, you opened up a bit. The trauma of the accident had shaken the entire family, and you didn’t want me to become a part of it. You told me of the severe burns I suffered, waist downwards. For weeks on end I was admitted to the children’s burn ward of Safdarjung Hospital in New Delhi- the only hospital which provided such specialized treatment in the capital in those days. As the boils made lying on cot difficult, and extremely painful, you held me in your arms to provide much needed relief and succor. Over those long days, and lonely nights, you continued this penance, to minimize my discomfort, and ease the lengthy road to recovery – without bothering about your food, health or sleep. It was through the collective patience, resilience, faith and above all the will of our family to never give up hope that we could tide over this crisis

Friends,

When I came to know about the incident, I was too grown up, or my emotions invested too much in other relationships, to express any gratitude of significance to Mummy for her sacrifice- which probably saved my life at that point in time.

But, on 24^th February, 2022- on Mummy’s birthday- when we accompanied her in the hearse towards the electric crematorium, to bid adieu to her transient body- the dam holding my tears for so long gave way. The mist cleared. I recollected not only this sacrifice- unknown to me for a long part of my life- but countless other struggles waged by my middle-class, working parents to ensure that both me, and my brother went to some of the best educational institutions in the country, and achieve their aspirations.

Mummy,

As your mortal remains were consumed by the pitiless furnace, my heart overwhelmed with angst, on why I had failed so miserably to thank you for everything that you had done for me. How I wished I could have expressed my gratitude, when there was still time, hugged you tightly- instead of embracing your mortal remains that day. How I wish the needle could be turned back, just one last time, to allow me to seek penance for my callous behavior, to seek forgiveness for the many times that I had let you down….But as we all know, no matter how desperate our pleas be, the needle can never be turned back……