Homage to the Hand that Rocks the Cradle

A few days ago, I saw one of the simplest, yet most charming sights that I have ever seen till date. I was enjoying a brisk evening walk, in the beautiful garden that adjoins my apartment block, breathing in a delightful breeze that had the barest hint of a nip in it (just the way I like it!). I'd taken several rounds, quite oblivious of my surroundings on account of some particularly good music that I was listening to, when I saw this spectacle that just stayed with me.

Seated on one of the park's wooden benches was a lady, holding a cherubic baby girl on her lap. She was probably in her thirties and wore a loose-fitting outfit. A simple hairband kept her glossy hair from falling on her face. It was the face that caught my attention...a face that wore an expression of the most perfect contentment and happiness. More than her fair skin and radiant complexion, it was her smile that made my slow my pace, just so I could observe her and her infant for a while longer.

Her smile was the kind that lights up your soul, regardless of whether or not it is meant for you. A pure, unaffected expression that shone through her entire face, beaming down at the baby who reciprocated in kind. She was singing a little song that would sound perfectly nonsensical to "mature" ears, but in that moment, there was nothing that made more sense. Gently, she bounced her daughter on her knee, singing her funny little song, the two of them completely lost to the world. In perfect tandem, the baby's delighted gurgles rippled between the lyrics, especially when her mother gave her the gentlest of tickles.

In those few moments, there was nothing that had more meaning for me, than the sight of this little interaction that I witnessed. It sent my mind racing into the past, awakening some of my oldest memories, in which I shared similar moments with my mother. I saw myself in a bright room (in my old home in Calcutta), making my first attempts at writing. My mother stood behind me, leaning over my chair, her gentle fingers closing over my hand, showing my how to hold the pencil steady. I remember the sweet smell of her perfume and the feel of her soft curly hair against my cheek. Together, we wrote my first letters as she sang a little song that she made up to guide my learning: "Up above the red line, down to the blue line..." In this way we formed each and every member of the alphabet on those old four-lined exercise books in which children learn to write.

Today, I type more than I write, but had it not been for those moments spent with her, the alphabet would have been no more than a bunch of odd shapes and most of the world would not have made any sense!

A mother's hand is one of the first things that the infant feels and it's touch becomes an unmistakable sensation. Powerful, gentle, protective, steadying and more...she communicates all these qualities with no more than her touch. It is this touch that guides us throughout our time together, an unshakable reassurance of unconditional love that comforts us even when it is a memory.

Over the span of all the years I have spent in this life, I've observed an evolution in the relationship that I share with my mother. I began life as her eager student, soaking in all she had to teach like a dry sponge that has just been shown under a gushing tap! As the years progressed and I acknowledged the presence of different people in my life, I learnt new things, expanded my horizons in even more directions. This does not mean I abandoned my mother's paths (till today she remains my expert-of-choice on a vast range of topics)...what I'm saying is that I realised that there were many things that I could learn and share with her...things that even she did not know. I realised that we are both students in this enormous school called Life...that we are both looking for something...and that she is my senior, but she is willing to learn each time I find something that she is unaware of (and vice-versa).

We are now partners in the journey of our existence...Children of the same Universe...rivers meandering towards the same ocean. Sometimes we are hand-in-hand and at sometimes we do things a little differently, but an undying love binds as at all times. It began even before I came into existence in her womb and will remain even when we are no longer there in this world...for that is the glory of a mother and her child.

Here's to all our mothers! :)

God bless!