Mambazham

A mango on my table. I look at it, hold it in my palm and suddenly, the key to my cave of remembrance opens thyself and I let myself in. It takes me back to a Malayalam poem that never failed to humble my own existence in this world. Of the need of living each moment of our life, the impact our words have on others, to become effortlessly self less, a compassion for life around us, an ability to forgive and to always carry that beacon of love in our hearts - a love so simple and pure, a love that holds no rhyme or reason, a love that outshines the demons of our minds.

'Mambazham' is one of the famous poem written in Malayalam by the renowned late Sri Vailloppily Sreedhara Menon.

When the first ripe mango falls from the tree in her courtyard, the mother sheds tears. She had yearned for that mango tree to bear fruits for months and finally when it did, her lil one plucks those buds and comes running to her, delightedly telling her that the flowers have bloomed and shows it to her with pride.The mother gets angry and reprimands him. His eyes wells up, his bright face cast down and he tells her, "Amma, I will not come help you pick the mangoes for sure".

'Lil ones, who cannot even string words together, are Gods in their own rights, for they can foresee the future', Vailloppilly writes.

That summer, her lil one, without waiting for the mangoes to ripe, departs from the world.

Now, the mother sees the neighborhood children make merry under the mango tree, building toy houses under its shade, plucking mangoes and savoring them with relish.Darkness envelopes her and tears blinds her sight.

She then walks and stands near the earth where her son is buried and lay down a few flowers and mangoes and tells him that these are for you, my love."My dear lil one, how many times have I scolded you and how many times you have come back to me with nary a sorrow?", she asks."Why can't you come back to me now, my love, my life, my lil one?".

A gentle breeze wafts by and she feels her lil one's soul embracing her....

Being a m.o.t.h.e.r

The few years in to my life as a mother and more the time I spent with my son, I feel that his world is such a happy spot for me to be in. He can be wild and rude at times, but in retro his innocence takes over, his needs and his means to access those needs are direct and straight cut and, his solutions always simple and worry-free. Some evenings, back from my work and his school, I talk to him just like I would talk about my day to an adult. Like the other day, he was perched on the dining table having his milk and I was having dosas (evening snack), I talked to him: that I am not liking the 109 F weather and wish it was winter soon, how it was a slow day at work and I wanted the day to be over with so I could get back home and such. He looked at me straight into the eye, nodded at intervals and asked questions like 'when will christmas come? can we stay home tomorrow?". I answered them, all the while thinking, how I longed for him to grow up so I could really talk to him in an adult-to-adult way. I wondered if he would grow up to be 'always-in-a-hurry teenager' or a 'sarcastic-in-a-nice-way to his mother's whimsies' kind of a teenager his mother was or if he would really listen to what I talk and offer his remarks like he does now in his sweet innocence.

In the evenings, he often talks about what him and Mr. Upsi did that morning after I left for work. On those conversations, Mr. Upsi is portrayed as his possession, as someone whom only he is acquainted with and not as my husband of seven and counting years. He would point to the golf driving range on our way back from his school and say, "My Daad said this golf Uncle is going faaaaaaar away and new Uncle is coming". When I reply that I don't think that is going to happen, he would immediately retort to "But my Daad told me".

Couple of weekends ago, I had to take him to his ice-staking lessons since Mr.Upsi had work to be completed. Now, our little one is not very receptive of strangers and borders on being a 'shy kid'; though if the same strangers were to come to his home, he would be showing off his toddlerish skills and toys to them. I am not sure on how I would categorize him. Maybe, I fear that labeling him so and so, at this tender age when his personality is only taking shape would deter its very growth in some way. I want to be able to provide him with ample space for his growing individuality, without restricting it within a fixed norm. Alright, back to the ice skating rink - the three previous sessions we took him to, he cried his guts out and would not go with his instructor and held onto Mr. Upsi's leg. While I thought the whole scene looked rather cute, Mr. Upsi was stern and being a 'parent'. He cajoled him to just go and grab those bubbles on the centre of the rink, that a Spider man or a Superman would never cry at such events and to please be a big boy. The lil one was having none of it and five minutes before the session ended, I saw him struggling to skate, fall down many times and finally reaching the toys, getting one and crawling back under the safety of Mr. Upsi's legs. On the way back home, I complained that Mr. Upsi was being quite a Hitler and that our son is just a little one and to let him be.

So when I got my chance to take him to the practice solo, I was armed with a cool-mom halo and was all set to just let him be. We got lost on our way and arrived 15 minutes late into the 30 minute session. I did not know what his shoe number was (served me right, right then and there!) and had to call up Mr. Upsi, who without missing a heart beat said, nine. Oh well, he needs to know at least that :) And there we were, the cool mom and her super cool dude of a son, at the entry of the rink waiting for the instructor to come by and see if the lil one would co-operate. She took a few minutes to come and I used those precious minutes to drill to him the hundred and twelfth time, 'hey lil one, take it easy now. look how nice it is. go ahead with your teacher and play with those toys. and if you decide not to, thats okay too'. The teacher came, did her sweet talk to whisk him away and he responded with a plaintive cry that got only louder with each passing second. She left and I found myself fuming intensely inside. The next ten minutes saw me talking exactly what I loathed to talk - bribing him with chocolates if only he would just go with his teacher, comparing him with his friends who were skating, talking down on him, expressing my discontent with his attitude, all the while feeling very furious and I could feel it radiating right through my skin. I finally gave up and told him that we could sit in the gallery and watch the 'good big boys' skate. He agreed and we watched from the gallery. I did not talk much at all and he could feel the tension rising. He kept hugging and I, who always loved receiving those unrequested hugs from him, did not budge and ignored him. He then came to me and said, 'next time, I will go with the teacher, okay Mama?". I melted a bit on hearing that and said a simple plain okay. He then asked, "so mama, can I have a chocoloate now?Jeez!!

Last week, we asked him if he wanted to go to the skating class and if he wants to, will he be willing to go with his teacher. He said, "I think...maybe....not". We left it at that and did not show up for the class. Later, I got to thinking if we made the 'right' move. Should I be taking him to the classes, or the least watch from the gallery? Did I give up too easily? Let him be or prod him more?

Parenting is a sacred responsibilty bestowed on the parents and when you are in a juncture with no clue or a handy book on what to do next, the sacred part gives way to being scary. Twenty years down the line, I know I will be able to look back on these and with a simple gesture of my hand, I will be waving at the simplicity of it all, that looked so complex at that snap shop of my life as a mother to a 3 year old.