The Mother

Long long ago, during the mid 1980s, when I was a student, I saw a marriage party motoring its way on the road in all its splendour. No, it was not the splendour that caught my eye, nor are such baraats rare sights. But what touched my heart is that, ahead of the baratis, a mother was holding a heavy hand-held light (not a lantern mind you, but something that looks like a chandelier, and many such 'chandeliers' were held by others and all these were powered by a generator) while carrying an infant bound across her shoulder. While it was a pleasure and an occasion to celebrate for the baratis and to display their riches, it was a struggle for existence for the mother. And this triggered a melancholic feeling in me and I versified it.

An Introspection

Once in a while, amid a cluster of contiguous and unsavoury events, occurs a silver lining, an occasion to cherish for a long time. The Silver Jubilee Marriage Anniversary day (23rd Feb) is one such momentous day, tugging us away from the quotidian life. The incessant running behind the yet-to-know-and-achieve-goal in life has suddenly come to a screeching halt. I stop to look-back how resplendent the verdure we have carefully nurtured and nourished for the past twenty-five years is, and at the lives of the two charming darlings.

It is an overwhelming sense of elation of 25 years of togetherness with an ever strengthening bonding as days, months, and years progressed. Inspired by the evergreen defiant proclamation 'jab pyar kiya to Darna kya', we did have the fortitude to take those seven steps - the saptapadi, to be friends 'till death does us part'.

But it was only then that we started learning the lessons of life, for, every ragtag and bobtail with or without nous, taking leave of all sense of propriety, had his/her own piece of unwarranted advice and equally unsolicited opinions about our lives, especially when our chips are down, leaving us seething in indignation. And there were some inveterate gatecrashers too poking their silly noses into our lives. There has never been a dearth of people going green with envy looking at our maverick lifestyle.

There are, of course, well-wishers too, my Amma, who took a very hasty exit from this mortal world, and the fathers – mine and her – at the top of the list. Although their kernels of wisdom, bordering at times on orthodox platitudes, on occasion when delivered seemed acerbic, to lacerate us when we resorted to intemperate pursuits. They resorted to sententious maxims reminding me of Shakespearean Polonius. And learn did we a valuable lesson, "Heed not these exhortations, life and providence would invariably teach", to remember forever. And then there is my bosom pal – my dear brother, and the friends, in deed indeed.

We knew fully well that life is not a bed of roses, but what we realised is that there are many an explosive landmines in addition to umpteen thorns with a few roses strewn here and there. We stepped on the thorns and landmines, sometimes knowingly, sometimes willfully, sometimes nonchalantly, and most of the times unknowingly, and did they sting us painfully besides blowing-up in our faces. Ladders have been very few and far amid the slither of snakes. Many blew up in the face, stung venomously overwhelming and overpowering the whole being. It was more akin to the game of snakes & ladders than the insouciant and trouble-free life the Romantic poets deal(t) with. And there were as many Demons as were Angels in our lives. Yet, together, we endured the pains and sought solace in those oases of roses, climbing together each rung of the rare ladders that came across our way.

Of course, we too had our share of misunderstandings, dissonances, and disputes and subsequent compromises, which, in fact, spiced-up the romance and reinforced the bond between us. Cela, alors, est l'esprit de la vie.

A shot-in-the-arm for me is the Enlightenment about the Reason behind the Realists' rejection of the Romanticists (whew! Isn’t this the essence of three contiguous literary ages in British Literature spanning two centuries?)