SUCH A LONG
JOURNEY
Let me tell
you a story. Long, long ago, in a highly
conservative middle class family a highly educated couple took the brave
decision of falling in love and getting married. The families too were educated
and cultured and consented, albeit with some reservations on either side as is
always with such unions. Thus the bond made in heaven was sealed on the Earth
in presence of the eternal Fire God! In no time the handsome boy-man took
charge of his life and overcoming all the economic and social burdens, set sail
across the seven seas holding the hand of his equally talented and courageous
wife. The ship tumbled on lashing waves, occasionally smoothening the ride on
quiet water as it set sail for England.
Strange world, strange circumstances
and strange dialect, yet they managed to stay afloat and carve out a place in a
relatively hostile environment. Their hard work, intelligence and ability to
adjust with new people eventually saw them settling down in this new country,
even making few friends. A small home grew around their love, warm fires
brought romance and love in their hearts, new sights and fresh crisp days
brought enthusiasm and happiness and life rolled on, just as it should have
been for these two brave-hearts.
It was a
harsh cold winter. Snow fell incessantly on the window panes building white
soft walls around homes that lined this normally leafy and quiet by-lane. The
blue cement roads quickly disappeared under a dense white blanket and the air
turned hard and frozen. Thick black coats, woolen scarves and black fedora caps
was all that could be seen as people made way through the thick layers of snow,
brazing the rough cold wind to reach their work places or buy groceries on
their way back home. It was a tough time for all, but especially more for the
girl in our story who was dangerously on the verge of entering the next phase
of her life. She struggled through deep snow with swollen feet snugly fitted in
boots balancing her slender body that now carried the weight of two as she
walked to the hospital where she was working. The winter pierced through her
into the bones as she shivered with every blast that hit her while crossing the
road to the neighborhood grocer. Her prince charming was a hundred miles away,
struggling through an equally unforgiving winter, working long hours to make
life comfortable for the new person that was to enter their lives. He would
dash back home through the week-ends, check on his pregnant and glowing wife,
caress the bubble that held the growing new life, organize groceries, just in
case she went into labor and drive her to the ‘mom and baby’ shop to buy those
hundred sundry things that a new mom needed. He didn’t even know their names.
She was equally ignorant about baby things and most of the list came from kind
hospital matrons whom they worked with. They would look at each other and
smile, ever so slightly revealing the longing they felt for their mothers and
aunts who would have by now taken charge had they been back home.
In the early
sixties, child-birth and mother care was almost always in the maternal home and
expectant mothers would arrive from their husband’s home well in advance, well
into their seventh month of pregnancy, and spend the last crucial trimester
surrounded by the warmth of the unconditional mother’s love and pampering,
remaining happy and peaceful to bring forth a happy baby. The older aunts and
relatives would buzz around the girl, oiling her hair, feeding her fresh and
healthy food, telling her stories of valor and courage, giving her spiritual
guidance and sharing the pains and pleasures of motherhood, thus preparing her
well for the new role in her life. She did not have to think about who will
drive her to the hospital, a cousin or an uncle was ready. She did not have to
think of all the small little things that were needed as soon as the baby was
born, her mother was all packed and set with innumerable baby clothes, nappies,
sweaters, mittens, caps and soft cotton blankets all made from thoroughly
washed soft old cotton sarees. She did not have to think of recuperation and
getting that precious ‘fifty winks’ when the baby bawled till dawn and feeding
took away all her strength to stay awake, a sister or an aunt was always there
to comfort the little one as she slipped into a deep comatose sleep till the
next feed. She did not have to think of making lunch or dinner or even that
much needed cup of tea, it was always ready in her mother’s kitchen. Thinking
of all this, they would look at each other and smile, ever so slightly
revealing the longing they felt for their mothers and aunts who would have by
now taken charge had they been back home.
She knew she
had to all this and more as they welcomed their first child into their lives in
a strange new land. They weren’t even sure if he would be there when the time
came. So each week-end was spent in organizing the kitchen, rearranging the
furniture, packing bags for the big day, keeping the car ready with packed bags
and petrol and hoping the baby would come into this world on a week-end!
It was not
to be.
The baby had
a mind of its own. It not only not came on a week- end but decided to push its
way out a month earlier than its time. Like the water, all hell broke loose at
midnight, midweek. Struggling to keep up her morale and contain her panic, she
managed to drive herself to the hospital where she worked in the dark of the
night through blinding snowfall and thick sheets of ice and collapsed in the
arms of the buxom smiling night matron. Rest was a blur and she was awakened by
the soft sound of her husband calling her out. She smiled gently as she looked
into the reassuring eyes that she had fallen for many years ago. ‘It’s a girl
and she is fine’ he said. They looked at each other with a new sense of
respect. Their boundless love had turned a new page and they were ready for the
challenges of parenthood, come what may!
The birth of
a child is a conscious decision taken by two adults bound by love and
tradition. It is a reaffirmation of their trust and faith in their relationship
as it is also the next level of the biological system of the body. It is as
much their commitment to each other as it is to the new life that they bring forth
in this world. The hardships endured and the unconditional love showered, are
just a small part of their commitment. That happiness of seeing your miniature
self divided unequally but presented as a whole in the form of the child that
grows under your wings, is magical and extraordinary. Each day brings with it a new joy and a new
responsibility. It makes you aware of the blessings you have received from all
the wonderful people who surround you. It makes you aware of your upbringing
and the culture imbibed in you that you must now propagate further. The stories
of honesty, loyalty, truth and courage must be told. The values of respect,
love, trust and integrity must be taught. The teachings of great saints, of
great men and women who have made us understand the value of being human must
be passed on. Just as you are made, the child must be made too.
Each step
must be carefully walked as there is now someone behind, watching and learning.
Each decision must be carefully weighed as there is now someone who will be
affected by it. The gaiety and romance of life need to be redefined and
continued giving the child a joyous childhood so that his/her life stands on
the firm foundations of love, trust and happiness. This is the story of each
one of us born to loving parents and becoming one as the cycle of life
continues.
This is the
story of my birth and it is more special because the time and space and
circumstances of birth were unusual and special. Having gone through parenthood
I could understand the blessing that my parents have given me but it was
necessary to trace their journey to this strange land to know the level of
endurance and understand their belief in their love, strong enough to bring me
into this world in spite of all the challenges.
Life took me
through various twists and turns, lifting me up or hurtling me down at its own
will. I smiled through good times and I gasped for breath as I gagged under
difficulties but the partner I had chosen to spend the rest of my life who is
the boy in my story held my hand firmly, just like the boy in the story here, and
parenthood became a walk on silk route. In all this, I forgot to look back
where I came from and finding my birthplace lay hidden in a deep crevice in the
heart. As I walked through the years, I forgot the enormity of the sacrifices
and the love my parents had put into making my life as I became more involved
with making lives of my two miniatures born whole with unequally divided
characteristics.
The cycle of
life took away my parents, one after the other just as they had walked around
the sacred fire many decades ago, to another world leaving behind memories that
formed the strong wall I leaned against ever so often. I realized that this
strength came from the immense love they had poured into my heart even as they
struggled to make their lives.
Re-discovering
the source of my strength and my ability to give forth the same values I have
imbibed was like looking into the past, walking through every little pain and
pleasure my upbringing may have brought, pondering over all the moments that I
had made them proud and hearing all the laughter that made my childhood a happy
place to be.
It was a fine sunny morning and the rare blue
clouds smiled happily over the Cheshire sky, yellow buttercups swayed in the
gentle breeze and the ‘prim and propah’ manicured lawn lazed in the mellow sun.
The small town of Heswall was just stirring in its warm blanket. Trees were
getting ready to shed their inhibitions and welcome the autumn. It had taken
more than five decades and nine hours of exciting flight journey to where I
stood now. A kind friend had been gracious enough to drive me here. It was that
moment! I stood teary eyed gazing at the place where my life began. The place, where
I was hugged tightly and warmly, kissed tenderly and gently and loved deeply,
stood mute witness to my being and the wonderful life of my parents.
The enormity
of what our parents have given us and done for us comes to us as we stand on
the throes of parenthood. Somewhere down the line we get truly engrossed in
fighting life’s battles. We forget what they have done for us and more
importantly, we also forget what we are doing for our children.
Taking the
journey back to our birth gives us the strength we have been blessed with and
eases the path that lies ahead. It gives you glimpses of the life you have left
behind. It connects you to your roots and evokes a sense of being enveloped in
a warm tight hug on a frosty cold day.
It’s a long
journey but must be taken. It’s a reaffirmation of our respect to our parents
and our love and faith in our relationship with each other as we walk holding
not just each other’s hands but also those who are our continuation.
A journey so
that our children know what we have done for them.
Such a long
journey!!
