Time spent with mum suddenly seems distant. Memories associated are growing hazy like some old discarded mirror left unclean reflecting the light with the dust eating at the contours of the reflection.
I haven’t quite survived the loss though I pretended I have moved on for some time. In the exuberance of shaping my life, I had folded the reel down thinking I might never have to look back. Which is why perhaps all of this happened –the time spent in Gurgaon– to remind me of my own self, mom and what’s mine.
I lost her on Diwali morning on 23rd October, 1995 – the year I graduated from high school. After all the rushing around with last rites, I was bent on the sketch board completing assignments for submission. It’s a shame that she didn’t witness how well I did despite being thrown away on the road and getting molested in name of being in relationship. It wasn’t any pleasure, any feeling of it was remote and for a long time thereafter. What followed after losing my only blood relationship is something I’m still trying to take control of. I believe I have sorted some of it- atleast in understanding. To mark the life coming of full circle, Karma is awarding me with the festival falling the same day as it had back then. It couldn’t get any better.
I celebrate her death anniversary instead of wailing and for what? I wore a saree one year I recall when with Convergys; when I think I was moving on. Last year one of my neighbours had invited herself over for drinks… and so on. For last several months I contemplated draping a saree to work to identify it as a day of celebration; now reconsidering my plan. It’s festival time, so I could dress up traditionally though mum hated me for this. She was a modern woman resonating ideas much ahead of her times. She may have made a few haphazard choices and then stuck to them; but whatever she ever taught me has stood true blatantly against all phases I have witnessed so far. She wasn’t wrong about me- not even by a comma. Her wordcount to describe me when she did turned out to be just about perfect. No spelling mistakes or syntax errors were found.
Even though I can’t reach out to her anymore, I feel she is forever around, so close that the time spent with her now is folding itself in neat layers- becoming the building block of future and nomore stabbing me. I miss her not because I suffered- but because I fail to go back to her telling how successfully she grafted me in her own light. Whoever I am is in her reflection. She knew how to hang on. Incidentally, this isn’t it. As I write this post, realizations and epiphanies strike me like they were waiting on my writing this wordplay. I see the sequence clearly of the events that are to soon unfold.
This is where it would end… this whole big phase that started close to two decades ago. I feel I have worked out her Karmas too. I kept myself going; though, it would have been easier to give in and end up in a bigger mess probably even bigger than what mom got herself in. A few clever choices I made which were equally scandalous and those which added more experience against the time I spent living seem to have done it. I feel free already. A few more hours to go before the actual time of the anniversary would set in, what other way could I have it… at work, surrounded by co-workers dressed up and with happy faces around. Unknowingly they would become a part of my celebration, such is how Universe works. Regardless of what I choose to wear, I’ll be inquired for being ecstatic.
I feel somewhat clotted after running a few tears down. Much to my liking, I’m right now dwelling in solitude. Content and a bit stopped short. It’s drawing a close.
Edit: This is what I wore. To work.
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