Cuddles and tears

 

A chapter in my life which I couldn't learn in clarity. A human being who caressed me, of whom I've only heard about. Mariyamma chedathi. I've never seen her (not in the sea of my conscious memory) in my life hitherto. All I know is that she looked after me, cuddled me and held me safe like a mother bird, when my mom was away from home. Years ago. After my birth. When my parents went to work. When my mom had to cover eighteen kms, hiring three buses each day to go to the school where she taught. She had a lot of stress at work, so Mariyamma chedathi (along with my grandma) took good care of me whenever she was away, all through the initial phase of my life when I was just a little bud preparing to bloom. She stayed with us meanwhile. She then left, and for so long, we couldn't keep any contact with her. Years later, we got to know that she was suffering from cancer. We tried to reach out to her, but all in vain. I thought I would never be able to see her.

But today, we were finally able to call her. She spoke to me and it felt like speaking to a person with whom you had a connection even before you were born. It really felt so. As if the dust from a memory album was shaken off all of a sudden, only to find the beauty within each fragment of its documentation. As if  fractions of the past shimmered suddenly by the sudden reception of blue light. As if a cuckoo which had forgotten to sing for so long got surprised by the melody that was being poured out slowly from its very same throat. She expressed her earnest wish to see me. To take a look at who I've become. Probably to observe how my eyes have stayed the same even with the growth of my body, my mind. To find what is to be admired in me, the little creature whom she had adorned, 19 years ago. I felt so amazed! She asked me to visit her soon. And to pray for her. To call out for help. After all, what greater gift could a person ask for! 

When the call ended, I could feel my eyes wet. The magic of human existence struck me for a moment. Of how one's eyes often become the best listeners in the world. Of how the eyes reproduce tears of empathy or connection while listening to stories of the heart. Stories which only the heart knows, only the heart has experienced, of which the eyes have no clue about. A unique emotion was what I felt when I heard her voice, which sounded anxious enough to dig deep, searching for tiny traces of that babbling noise which this little infant once produced. Before hanging up, she told me about the dread that was eating up her body, her peace. Breast cancer. She had been fighting it for the past 7 years. Surgeries, treatments of various sorts and medicines are an inevitable part of her life now. This was disturbing, even when we first heard of her disease we felt the same, but now I could vividly hear the sonority of disturbing waves. Throbs in the head. Tears in my eyes. Tears, which rolled down as smoothly as the beads in a broken necklace. She requested us to meet her in person. "Before her death". This is exactly what she said. A cold shudder went through my nerves. Smoothly. Suddenly.

The realisation that a person whom you've never consciously seen or listened to, could prove his or her existence within the corners of your locked mind is soothing. Ripples in a pool, recreated time and again by the stone of love. The harsh hit of wounding waves. The beauty of the ripple hidden within the pool, ready to rise up anytime. This is what makes human relations unique. You need not necessarily see people. You need not talk to them regularly. You need not hold hands. You need not laugh together. Yet, they would take shelter within you. Only to weave recreated memories.To film again the glimpses of which you were a part. To flow on with the hope of meeting you someday. Somewhere. Before death takes its toll.

- Vinaya Mary