SUCH A LONG JOURNEY

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!!