Tag: beliefs

Of Greatness

People talk so much about mothers and the sacrifices they make. For ages, people ignored their mothers and the sacrifices they made for their family.

But that’s changed now. Every mother’s day, people thank their mothers, speak so highly of their greatness and share photos on Facebook to show their gratitude to the rest of the world.

What about the other mothers?

She’s the one who starts work before you’re awake, sweeps your floors, cleans your bathrooms, refills your tissue rolls, clears away your empty cups, dusts your desk, rearranges your dishevelled papers, eats after you, and works on Sundays.

And yet, she’s not your mother.

She’s a maintenance staff. The people who make an office of a piece of construction.

So many of these maintenance staffs are mothers too. And it’s painful to see them working so hard for the people who don’t even spare a second look at them.

Most of them are my mother’s age. Every time I see one of them mopping the floor for the third time in a day, I wonder if I’d want my mother in the same situation.

I wouldn’t. Because it’s a sad job. Because people don’t see you for who you are; people don’t see you at all. And yet, not one of them walks past your place without taking away the cup you were too lazy to throw away. And if you happen to catch their eye, they smile at you — not the false smile you give your boss, but the one your mother gives you. What makes them do that?

I don’t think it’s passion for their work. A sense of conscience? Are they just loyal to their salary?

It’s not about the money. It was never about the money. Yes, it’s their job to clean, but it’s their choice to clean satisfactorily. Because they care. They care about you, they care for me.

It’s the human vulnerability. They look at me and they see their own daughter. The mother within drives them to do more, to do better.

I sat staring at the laptop one morning. It was the festival holidays and the office was almost empty. A maintenance staff came up and asked me why I didn’t go home for the festival holidays. We spoke for a while and she wondered aloud how hard it must be, living in a foreign city, away from family, not being able to go home for the holidays without getting crushed under poor roads and the terrible traffic of monsoon rains.

She works a 12-hour shift and her every break is valuable. She didn’t have to spend her time talking to me. But she did. She spent her free time consoling me. She didn’t know why I didn’t go home, she didn’t know I was too lazy to trudge through traffic.

She just assumed I couldn’t go, never once suspecting that I didn’t want to go. Because she’s a mother. And mothers don’t judge.

If that’s not great, what is?

Written for a contest run by Tata Motors to promote their campaign, #madeofgreat.

Chapter Eleven: Revelations

Nothing could have prepared Praveena for the days that followed. The funeral was held in their house. Geetha was in a glass box, set the living room where the couch used to sit. Seeing her mother laying there lifeless, Praveena painfully thought back to the conversations the two of them had had, sitting on the couch, sipping hot tea. Such a bad case of nostalgia overcame her that she couldn’t bear the thought of facing the ceremony.

She retreated to her room, as the house filled up with friends and relatives she didn’t know her mother had had. She had met none of them during these thirteen years of her life. But everyone seemed to know her. There was a group of old women who sat in a circle weeping and mourning. Looking at them, Praveena felt a sense of dread and hatred rise within her. ‘Who are these people, and why are they lamenting my mother?’ her anger flared, ‘Where were these people when she needed them most — when she was sick?’

Praveena looked at them with contempt as they all line up to pay their respects to a body they hadn’t bothered to call on when she lived. They, on the other hand, misunderstood her annoyance for sadness.

But Praveena was far from sad; she was mourning her mother more than anyone else ever would in a lifetime, but she was more worried at their pretense. They all seemed to care.

A middle aged woman had walked over to Praveena earlier. Showing all her betel-stained teeth, she had said, “Don’t you worry little girl. Everything’s going to be alright. What’s your name, again?”

Praveena thought she must have tried to console her, but she sounded far from it. They were nothing more than empty words. Praveena could say the woman was being civilized and well mannered; she meant non of her words, her false smile was too easy to see through. She was not the only one though, everyone showed they cared, in a way that proved they didn’t.

Parveena had had enough. She went to her room, locked herself inside and sat cross-legged on the bed. She wanted to cry but didn’t. A mix of emotions ran amok inside her head. She didn’t know what to feel. Her mother had gone, leaving Praveena and her father with civilized animals who lived to please others and worried only about their social status.

She shook her head in exasperation. “Why is everybody so bad?” she wondered a little too loud and angry.

‘That’s the nature of people, you’ll have to live with it’ It was her inner voice again.

“Stupid people, don’t you think?” Parveena questioned. She had gotten used to conversing with her inner voices. Alone now, she could speak aloud to herself without people thinking she had gone mad with grief.

‘Yes.’ It was so simple. People are stupid. They do stupid things for stupid reasons. It’s human. But people are also selfish and greedy and evil. That’s not human; that’s a choice. Somewhere along the way, people tend to give in to the temptation of greed.

‘Why though?’ Praveena wondered. ‘Why do people want more than they already have? Why aren’t people ever happy?’

It’s the kind of conversation she would have had with her mother. Now she’d have it with herself.

‘We are raised to believe that we are better than other creatures.’

Her inner voice had given her the answer. “True”, she agreed, we believe that we are better than other animals, and in the same way, we tend to believe that we are higher than other humans. We love to show our power over them, just to prove our belief. “How stupid of us.” She exclaimed in conclusion, shaking her head.

Suddenly, she felt like sharing this with someone. “Ma!” she called out without thinking.

Reality came crashing down on her head.

‘Ma is dead.’ — Inner voice again.

Praveena held her head in her hands, her excitement ebbing away. She lay back on her bed, eyes wide open and mind racing.

‘You look for answers outside, when you already have it within you. Look deep enough, and you’ll find it.’

Praveena silently agreed, staring at the swirling fan.

National Blog Posting Month – Day 12

Chapter Ten: The Loss

Praveena was interrupted in Andrew’s class the next afternoon. The principal wanted to meet her. Annoyed and a little curious at the same time, she made her way as slow as possible, to the principal’s room.

Again, as she passed Ms Marrie’s room, she saw her reading. Their eyes locked, and Praveena sped up. When she reached the principal’s office, she knocked once and was asked to enter.

As soon as she entered, Principal Vanitha spoke. “You’re mother’s ill. Your father is coming to get you. Wait”. The principal was careful never to betray emotion in her tone — not that she felt any. In her five years as the principal, she had seen countless students and parents who fell ill and then recovered. It was just another day for her.

Not for Praveena though. She didn’t know what to say or do. She stood stunned, staring at the principal like she’d thrown a dumbbell at her face.

“Wait outside,” the principal snapped and waved her away. Praveena turned, her feet carrying her outside the office. The look on her face was fixed and her face had become rather white.

She didn’t have to wait long though. After about ten minutes of confused wondering, the school security guard escorted her father to her. Too scared to utter a single word, Praveena followed her father. The huge lump in her chest was growing with every step she took.

A tough twenty-minute ride later, Kamal was rushing inside a building with a huge banner: The National Cancer Institute. Praveena quickened her strides. She barely noticed the people she passed as she followed her father. She had never been in here before; her parents had always visited this place while she was in school. Nurses rushed to and fro without paying the slightest attention to anyone else. A few patients in wheelchairs were on the move continuously. Praveena almost knocked into an old bald man. “I’m sorry” she hastily whispered, rushing. Her mouth had gone dry. The building seemed to stretch a long way.

In the farthest corner of a long corridor, Kamal stopped in front of a door with a large number seven embedded on it. Praveena rushed to him. Signaling her to be quiet, Kamal opened the door and went inside.

Praveena peeped in and saw her mother. The pillows on either side of her made her appear much thinner than she was. She had tubes connecting to her wrist and her nostrils. The overwhelming scent of medicine and the sight of her mother made Praveena dizzy. She swayed on the spot. Kamal was by her side in an instant. “She’s got Jaundice” he whispered to her.

She didn’t need her father to explain what that meant. Wikipedia and countless other online magazines had given her all the information she needed. Since Geetha’s diagnosis, Praveena had scoured the Internet for anything she could find about the ailment that would take her mother away from her.

Jaundice was the final sign that Death was approaching. Fast.

The thought made Praveena shiver. She could hear her heart beating fast as if it wanted to get away from the cage it was imprisoned.

Praveena sat in a chair away from the bed, staring at the limp and unrecognizable figure on the bed. How could this happen to her? Why did it happen? She couldn’t think straight and she couldn’t cry. Her mind wailed like an injured dog, but no tears fell from her eyes. She just sat and stared.

Praveena stayed with her mother at the hospital. Geetha has stopped eating and drinking, her skin became a pale yellow, and the look of it sent a chill of dread through Praveena’s spine.

Praveena wanted to hear her mother’s voice, she longed to hear from her mother that everything would be alright. Praveena was ready to believe even in the impossible, if it came from her mother. But she knew it wouldn’t happen.

Her mother was leaving her and she had to watch, heartbroken and helpless.

Geetha died on Friday.

Praveena had just brought a bunch of tulips into Geetha’s room. For the two days she was in the hospital, Praveena bought fresh flowers to put in the vase next to the bed. Tulips were Geetha’s favourite.
Whenever Praveena walked by the bed to place the flowers in the vase, Geetha would follow her with her eyes and watch in silence, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

On Friday morning, Praveena placed the flowers and looked eagerly at her mother’s reaction, only to find her face turned towards the vase, eyes closed.

Perplexed, Praveena went over to her father, who sat in the chair going through some medical files.

“Pa?” she asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” Kamal responded without looking up. He hadn’t slept well in two days and it showed in his eyes; they were sunken and red. His blue shirt was creased beyond any repair that an iron could do, and his soul was hurt more than he let show.

“Why is Ma still asleep?”

Kamal detected the fear in her voice. He stood and walked up to the bed in one swift motion. He took Geetha’s wrist with shaking hands.

With a shocked expression on his face he backed away from the bed in a rush. Geetha’s hand limply fell on to the bed.

He rushed outside, stumbling in the doorway, to get the doctor. Praveena had backed into the wall, clutching the cold stone for warmth. Kamal was back within the minute accompanied by the doctor. The doctor examined Geetha and delivered the blow.

Praveena stood stunned and watched in horrified silence as her father and everyone else around her reacted feverishly. It made no sense to her, it was all in a rushed blur. She didn’t need the doctor to confirm her fear; Kamal’s look had done that already.
Praveena understood.

Her mother had left her life.

 

National Blog Posting Month – Day 11

Chapter Nine: Useless Efforts

Praveena’s school life progressed with her making little progress. Days were long and nights longer. She witnessed her mother slowly walking up the path towards Death, but she neither said nor did anything to comfort her mother. She was worried though — so worried. She tried, day after day, to prepare herself to face what she must, but it wasn’t easy.

She cried a lot. Her eyes became puffy and dark circles began to form around them. It became a part of her appearance. She began neglecting herself trying to focus instead, on the pressing school work that was gnawing on the thin line that connected her with her mother. They were talking less and less.

Geetha hardly spoke nowadays, speaking only when it was necessary or only when Praveena came up to her.

One Saturday afternoon, Praveena came up to her parents’ room to sit with Geetha. Geetha’s eyes lit up when she saw her daughter standing by the door, holding lunch in a tray. She gestured her to sit by her side. Praveena did.

“Hi, Ma” she smiled brightly, a false smile which Geetha was quick to notice. Geetha said nothing but smiled in response. Praveena saw that Geetha struggled to raise her hand. She had lost so much of weight; her eyes were sunken; her lips dry and parched, and her now bald head seemed fragile. Only her eyes stood bright against the yellowish skin that stretched across her face.

When she spoke, her voice was barely audible and her breath came out in wheezes. Praveena tried hard not to panic. She wanted to scream for help and kneel by her mother, pleading and weeping not to leave her behind. ‘What’s the use?’ Her inner voice asked. ‘That won’t make her stay,’ the second voice comforted her. And Praveena, for once, decided to listen to her inner voices and remain sane. She couldn’t shake off the feeling though. She thought she’d feel better if she spoke of her fears, even though she knew it wouldn’t help her get through this phase of sadness and loneliness.

Geetha watched her, helpless but understanding the trauma Praveena went through. They sat watching each other in silence. A silence that echoed so loud in Praveena’s ears that she could bear it no more. She broke the silence.

“Have your lunch, Ma. Come on,” she stood and made to help Geetha sit up, but she waved her hand.

“I don’t feel hungry,” she managed to say, her hand falling limply to her side.

“Shall I make some juice at least?” fear welled up inside Praveena. Geetha shook her head, and heaved a sigh.

Geetha turned away from her daughter and while she suffered from the pain untold, Praveena watched in silence, suffering in her own way.

It was the recess time on Monday. Praveena sat in the last bench eating alone. She was lost in her own thoughts and didn’t notice Priya come up to her. She was a pretty face with dark shoulder-length hair that she wore in a braid. Having lost interest in long-braided hairdos, Praveena had always wondered how Priya and the other long-haired girls ever managed to maintain their hair with so much care. Despite showing no interest in nurturing her hair, Praveena’s long pixie was messy and healthy.

Sitting next to her, Priya asked, “Hey you ok?”

Surprised, Praveena turned round and managed a courteous smile, “Yep, I’m fine.” she shrugged.

“Oh,” Priya faltered, not knowing what to say. She remained silent.

It didn’t bother Praveena and she continued her lunch.

Feeling awkward with the silence that stretched between them, Priya asked, “How come you don’t talk much?” It wasn’t just a question to keep the conversation ticking, it was an earnest and curious question.

“I talk.” Parvenu declared surprised. “you know,” she shrugged, “when I have something important to say.”

“Oh, ok.”

Silence.

“Oh well, I’ll leave you to your lunch then,” Priya rushed the words, as if she wanted to get away. “See you.”

“Ya, see you…” Praveena’s voice trailed away.

Priya left as fast as she could. She joined another group and was soon chattering away amidst loud laughter.

Praveena watched them, munching on.

‘They have problems too, you know’ it was her inner voice. It had come up again after a day-long absence.

‘Maybe… but — ‘

‘You’re so full of self-pity. It’s not good.’ her inner voice cut her short. ‘Listen to me, you should snap out of it.’

‘I know, I can see that,’ Praveena thought, ‘but it isn’t easy.’

‘Yes, I know. Make an effort at least,’ her inner voice didn’t sound as stern as it used to. It was sympathetic and firm.

‘Oh ok, I will.’

 

National Blog Posting Month – Day 10

Taking a step back

Hello to you.

It’s nice having you here. I can’t tell you enough how much your reading this matters to me.

This November, I decided to take on both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo at once by rewriting one chapter of my two-year-old first draft of a novel.

7 days; 7 posts; 7 chapters later, I’d like to make take a pause and reflect.

What you think of my novel so far?

I’ve been getting a few views and a few likes on all of my chapters, so I’m assuming someone’s been reading them.

And I’d like it if you could share your honest opinions in the comments below. If you think I’m good — let me know. If you think I’m great– please let me know. If you perhaps think I’m so bad that I should stop writing altogether and go live under a rock, then by all means let me know that as well. I might not promise anything, but I’d appreciate your saying that.

Thanks all. Hope the rest of your weekend goes well.