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The Nest of Love

Jun 17 2008 | Views 1655 | Comments (100)

The nest of love. “Amma, you haven’t forgotten about the tri... Expand

The nest of love.

“Amma, you haven’t forgotten about the trip, have you?”

“Of course not, dear.”

How could I? I had been thinking about nothing else for the last few days. I was one of the mothers who had signed up for the Help the Teachers’ Programme. Simply put, it meant that I would be on call whenever the teachers wanted some additional help taking the children out on trips or when there was some function in the school.

With both Praveen and I workaholics, I thought it would give me some ‘quality time’ with my Megha. They had called me only once before, for a trip to the science museum and I had really enjoyed it. Megha was very proud that I was ‘almost’ a teacher. Being a teacher was the best thing in the world according to her, and on that day, I was almost there with her Gods.

This time, however was different. This time the trip was not to some innocuous science museum but to an old age home. Where do the teachers get these ideas! It was to broaden the children’s horizons, they said, to make them aware of the hardships that these elders had to face. Yes, it was all good. But how could I go? After all that happened?

“Amma, I have to go. Not many get this chance. You always say Heaven helps those who help themselves. And God could not be any clearer than this. He wants me to take this chance. Please let me go, Amma.”

“But it is so far away. No one will be there to help you.”

“There are good people everywhere Amma. And it is not as if we have so many relatives here to help.”

Her face clouded over. I was immediately sorry for what I said. The sour relation with her family was a still-open wound for her. She had defied her whole family and married out of her religion. My father was a Muslim – a non-practicing one – but that was still unacceptable to her orthodox Hindu family. Her father, my grandfather, had said quite clearly that the doors of his house would be closed to her forever the minute she goes ahead with the marriage.

Love succeeded. My parents got married and moved to Bombay where they could live without the eyes of the family following them everywhere. I was born two years later and I had the best childhood a girl could have hoped for. Both my parents took care not to let me miss my grandparents. They taught me Malayalam and took me to Kerala often so that I wouldn’t forget my mother tongue.

Then tragedy stuck. My father was killed in a scooter accident when I was twelve. My mother was quite shattered. But she knew she had to be strong for me. We had to give up some of the comforts we had got used to, but my mother’s clerical job ensured that we survived.

I inherited my mother’s strength and my father’s brains. I decided soon that I wanted to be an engineer, just like him. The family budget had to be tightened but my mother never said she couldn’t afford my dreams. I finished my Engineering with top honours. When a couple of friends wanted to take the GRE, I decided to try too. I wanted to prove I could do it. The question of leaving the country for another Degree never occurred to me.

I did well in the GRE as I did in all the exams I took. It was then that I started thinking seriously about doing my Masters Degree. One school I had applied to had even promised a Scholarship. My dreams started to soar.

“You are right. You should go. Your father would have wanted that too. And I did not give up my dreams for my parents, why should I expect you to do it then?”

I looked at her, my eyes starting to swim. I could see tears in her eyes too. We hugged each other and cried.

“I will come back Amma. I will get my degree, work there for a few years, and pay off the loan. Then I will get a job here. I promise. I will be with you always after that.”

“Don’t make silly promises. You have to call every week. Come home when you can.”

I agreed. The rest of the days passed quickly. Before I knew it, it was time for me to leave.

I looked at my phone. It was from home. This was unusual. I was the one who called every Sunday. I picked up the phone, my heart beating hard.

“Anu, this is Veena aunty. Your mother is not well, dear.”

I listened wordlessly. My mother had a stroke. She was confined to bed, needing the services of a nurse for everything. No, she couldn’t talk right now. She did not want me to be told, but Veena aunty had called anyway.

Later I talked to her. Though I said I would try to come, I knew it wasn’t possible. I had invested too much here to throw it away halfway. And she wouldn’t hear of it.

“Complete your studies. Don’t change your plans. There is only one thing. Though I have a full time nurse, I don’t think it is possible for me to continue here alone. So I am selling the house and moving to a nursing centre for the elderly. The house will fetch quite some money. I will save the rest for you.”

At that, I broke down completely. My mother, even in her time of necessity, was thinking about me, my future. And what did I do in return? Left her alone and ran out as soon as I could. Even after all the reassurances of friends, that guilt did not die down.

It was compounded by the letter that I got from her. Or rather, dictated by her. She could no longer write properly. In the letter, she had given the address of the nursing centre, Ashiana, it was called. Nest! A nest needed a family to make it whole. And I, her only family was far away from her.

I still called her weekly at the centre and also sent her long letters. Slowly her words started becoming more incoherent. She was preparing to go to her ashiana, she told me, where her husband was waiting.

By this time, my course was over. I had already got a good job offer. I had also saved and borrowed enough money for a trip home. I went home for three weeks.

I nursed her, and took care of her every minute I could. One day, she told me, “I think I will go today or tomorrow. Save you another trip home.” She smiled and held my hand. As she promised, she died that evening.

I returned; ready to start a new life. She would want me to be brave, I knew.

I did find a new life. Praveen, introduced by a mutual friend, soon became my soul mate. We became more attracted to each other when we discovered that among our group of Indian friends, we were the only ones who dreamed of going back to India.

Soon we got married and Megha arrived, our bundle of joy. When Praveen got an offer from a company wanting to start an office in Kochi, we did not have to think any further. We left, back to our homeland. I found myself a new job. Amma, I have come back. To your hometown. The old wounds had started to heal.

I even found out one of my mother’s cousins. I visited my mother’s ancestral home, the one whose doors had been closed to her. With my grandparents both dead, there was no one to keep alive old feuds. I was happy; my daughter had a lot of family around.

Years had passed since then. Megha was eleven and life was as perfect as she could be. Until this trip had come along. Would I be able to put to rest the demons that still haunted me sometimes? Could I finally get over my guilt of abandoning my mother? One thing I knew, Amma wouldn’t want me to back off.

So I had agreed reluctantly to lead the trip. The day of the trip dawned. As soon as the van reached the entrance and I saw the welcoming sign, ‘Aasha, a home for the old’, I knew I had done the right thing. I could feel my mother’s presence everywhere.

We got out from the van, thirty odd children, two teachers and I. A well-dressed middle-aged woman welcomed us with a smile.

“Welcome, children. I am Malathi, the Manager of this Centre. This centre is managed by a Trust Fund. That means a kind old man gave his money to us when he died. Did you understand?”

“Today we will see some Grandmothers and Grandfathers. They live here for many reasons. Some have no one to take care of them at home; some are very ill and need constant medical care. You have to understand children, not all the children who leave their parents here are bad, many of them love their parents. Sometimes they just don’t have a choice.”

Malathi went on explaining about the centre and how they function, but I couldn’t hear further. Those words sounded as if they were spoken to me, just for me. Yes, I did not have a choice. That did not make me a bad person.

Soon we divided into groups. Malathi had earlier asked the residents if they would like to meet some children. Some had not agreed and their wishes were respected. But a majority of them had consented. The able ones were at the common room. The children laughed and talked to them. The old people were wonderful. They played with the children, told them stories. One old grandfather taught them to make paper boats, another asked riddles.

I just stood in a corner, taking it all in. One old lady came to me.

“You are with the group, aren’t you? You are a teacher?”

I explained the circumstances.

“You seemed lost in another world. And your eyes looked sad. I remember my daughter when she had to leave me here. You look like her.”

I soon found myself unburdening myself to her. I held her hand, sat near her. Both of us cried a bit. Soon it was time to leave.

“I am glad I came. I feel so much happier now. I know my mother has forgiven me.”

“But she was never angry with you, dear. You are a good child. Now go in peace. And come when you can.”

I left with a big load off my shoulders. I had gone there to comfort, to heal. Instead I was comforted and healed. Finally the guilt had passed. I could go home now, to my nest.

Sulekha.com

Usha M

usha-writes.sulekha.com

The Nest of Love

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