He was nine and I was nineteen when we met for the first time. Wearing specks with lens as thick as an old man's, he would smile at me from under it. Sitting right under my nose he won my heart with the first ever comment he made. In all my glory I was delivering a speech on how I am gonna be a different kinda teacher for my li'l ones and inorder to ensure they synced with my idea, I told them to take me in whatever form they wanted," a friend, aunty, or mother!" Too much for my glorious speech. This li'l guy put an end to my speech with his cute innocent remark," stepmom miss?"
Since then he has been very close to my heart. Somehow I always felt that motherly love for him. Now, don't get me wrong here people, I never intended to become his stepmom, not at any cost. But every morning as his smile greeted me I felt that exulted feelings only a mother is capable of feeling. I was his class teacher for two years. In those two years we got very close. I wasn't biased, I was good to all my students but this particular li'l boy somehow took a larger chunk of my heart for his home.
Occasionally I visited his mom and sister too and his li'l sister who was barely a toddler developed instant liking to me. Even she would squirm," Miss, Miss!" whenever she saw me. Such was our love.
After those two years, we drifted apart. I left that place. After joining that new place I never got any mails from him but I knew he would think of me for I thought of him a lot. I would talk about him to anybody who was all ears for my blabbering.
After a decade we met again. Well, not physically. We met in FB. He had somehow found me. That proves he had never forgotten me too. Chatting for the first time, we caught up on the lost years. He told me he is in an Engineering college in South India and told me about where all he had been in a decade's time. I told him about my kids and the schools I had served. We promised to meet when he came for vacation. That was agreed.
Call it our destiny, he is currently in the same place I had to be in owing to some untoward circumstances. Again we meet in FB and too excited to know we are in one state,we exchange our phone numbers. He calls me immediately after I punch my numbers. "I don't know what to call you, Miss or Madam?" is the first line he says in his not the voice that I remember. And we both feel the connection that we have always felt.
Dear Ugyen, this is for you. I am immensely happy to have talked to you yet at the same time deeply sorrowed by the present state you are in. My li'l one, this mother of yours mothered you before I mothered my real kids. I know God knows my motherly love for you and this love will turn into sincere prayers to get you back to the Ugyen I always remember, smiling cutie pie, as I always called you.
write
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I just want to cry.
What do I write about? What is my imagination cooking? what thoughts are running in my blood?
Well, I pinched myself!Ouch! that surely hurt! But Why am I feeling so dead? I walk outside in the sweltering heat and try to sweat out all my numbness. I return red in the face, stinking like a pig. Now let me take a bath. The cold water might do me good. I soap and scrub all the last bit of sweat and grime yet I don't feel the freshness I want to feel.
Illusions of emotions is what I need I think. I pick up my book and start from my bookmarked page. Nope! I can't relate to the character. The characters are dull puppets, they evoke no feelings in my heart. I throw the book with a vengeance. Thud! it lands on the floor. I don't even give it a second glance. There is no guilt in discarding my favorite book.
I turn on the TV. Some songs might do wonders I wish. The music blares loud, yet it doesn't touch my soul. I put off the TV but do not throw the remote, can't risk breaking that.
I switch on the laptop. Click on some friends. I find the same coldness from my friends too. Either they are too busy with others or I have suddenly turned invisible I am yet to learn. Not wanting to tax anybody for my deathlike numbness; I clank on the keyboard.
But what do I write about? What am I feeling? Surely i must be dead already for I feel no emotions running inside me today. Suddenly I feel a warm tingle down my cheek. I find myself crying. I see my tears. It makes me cry more. So I cry.
I think I badly need to cry today...so, maybe I should stop typing this and get back to my crying. Atleast I know I am not dead, not today, for I am crying! Yes I am.
Well, I pinched myself!Ouch! that surely hurt! But Why am I feeling so dead? I walk outside in the sweltering heat and try to sweat out all my numbness. I return red in the face, stinking like a pig. Now let me take a bath. The cold water might do me good. I soap and scrub all the last bit of sweat and grime yet I don't feel the freshness I want to feel.
Illusions of emotions is what I need I think. I pick up my book and start from my bookmarked page. Nope! I can't relate to the character. The characters are dull puppets, they evoke no feelings in my heart. I throw the book with a vengeance. Thud! it lands on the floor. I don't even give it a second glance. There is no guilt in discarding my favorite book.
I turn on the TV. Some songs might do wonders I wish. The music blares loud, yet it doesn't touch my soul. I put off the TV but do not throw the remote, can't risk breaking that.
I switch on the laptop. Click on some friends. I find the same coldness from my friends too. Either they are too busy with others or I have suddenly turned invisible I am yet to learn. Not wanting to tax anybody for my deathlike numbness; I clank on the keyboard.
But what do I write about? What am I feeling? Surely i must be dead already for I feel no emotions running inside me today. Suddenly I feel a warm tingle down my cheek. I find myself crying. I see my tears. It makes me cry more. So I cry.
I think I badly need to cry today...so, maybe I should stop typing this and get back to my crying. Atleast I know I am not dead, not today, for I am crying! Yes I am.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
My mom
My mom, every time I looked at her, I have always asked,"why didn't I get your face?" But she smiles at me and never forgets to tell me,"girls who take on thier father's look are lucky ones."
Not that I despise my father's look, he is a handsome man indeed. But the way people still cast a second glance as she walks in the street I surely could do with a tiny bit of that fascination(not to be taken seriously!wink!)
"I remember your mom, fair skinned and the pink lipstick she wore always made me think she belongs in Hollywood," an acquaintance from my village remarks. Meeting this person at workplace was a pleasant surprise and I was more pleased knowing she remembered my mom in such beautiful way. I raised my face up and replied," she is still the same."
Few days ago she had come to Thimphu and one of my friend who heard about it texted me,"How is she?" Without wasting another second, I replied," Beautiful!" It is a thing of pride to have a mother who looks younger than yourself. Wheneever we walk in town together, people never think of us as a mother daughter duo. Thank God! Till date nobody asked if I was the elder of the two of us! Actually a close look at us warrants that statement.
I am of heavy built stature while she is skinny. I am tanned and murky while she is fair and glowing. I am more of junkie fan while she strongly believes in healthy diet. I would prefer a nook of a bed and laze around whenever possible while she would stick to her yoga asans and move around to keep herself fit.
(Ssshhhh! She is snoring peacefully beside me as I am typing this). Let me say a quick prayer to God before I take my place beside her and get lost into oblivion. Dear God,give me the same mom in my next life too and please, I don't want to be lucky, just give me her looks in my next life.
Not that I despise my father's look, he is a handsome man indeed. But the way people still cast a second glance as she walks in the street I surely could do with a tiny bit of that fascination(not to be taken seriously!wink!)
"I remember your mom, fair skinned and the pink lipstick she wore always made me think she belongs in Hollywood," an acquaintance from my village remarks. Meeting this person at workplace was a pleasant surprise and I was more pleased knowing she remembered my mom in such beautiful way. I raised my face up and replied," she is still the same."
Few days ago she had come to Thimphu and one of my friend who heard about it texted me,"How is she?" Without wasting another second, I replied," Beautiful!" It is a thing of pride to have a mother who looks younger than yourself. Wheneever we walk in town together, people never think of us as a mother daughter duo. Thank God! Till date nobody asked if I was the elder of the two of us! Actually a close look at us warrants that statement.
I am of heavy built stature while she is skinny. I am tanned and murky while she is fair and glowing. I am more of junkie fan while she strongly believes in healthy diet. I would prefer a nook of a bed and laze around whenever possible while she would stick to her yoga asans and move around to keep herself fit.
(Ssshhhh! She is snoring peacefully beside me as I am typing this). Let me say a quick prayer to God before I take my place beside her and get lost into oblivion. Dear God,give me the same mom in my next life too and please, I don't want to be lucky, just give me her looks in my next life.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Help! My mom's out to make me a model!
I’m just into my second mug of coffee; my mom’s eyes follow the coffee jar to my nervous hand pouring it. “Look at that color; you want your skin to become black like that coffee?” I hate Baba Ramdev for instilling that notion in her mind.
Ardent fan of Baba Ramdev and his yoga treatment; my mom wakes up each morning twitching her tummy with the loud inhaling and exhaling of her breath. I wonder how she could see my coffee mug with her fingers covering almost everything near her nose and eyes area.
Silently I pick my coffee and head out on the verandah. “Did you put on your sunscreen?” she shouts over her respiration exercises. I head out turning deaf ear. What would few minutes in the early morning sun do to my skin?
I return inside to find her sitting cross-legged and with her lanky limbs flapping like a helpless bird. I pull my laptop, wanting to just look at the pictures of my daughter. She gets up instantly. Baba Ramdev’s asans do work I think, look at the vigor with which my mom got up. “Don’t you dare open that thing!” she warns. I pout and crease my forehead but do not reply.
“You people are turning into lazy pigs with those gadgets keeping you hooked for hours!” I don’t know if she is more angry with me for spending hours with the laptop or angry with the people who designed laptops making people using it ‘lazy’ as she calls it. I shove it away and look at her, a look that says, “you are busy with your breathing, what am I supposed to do?”
“Let’s go out for a walk,” she pulls me up from the corner of the bed, where I’ve made my niche. “Walk?” I almost spit out the last dreg of coffee I had just put in my mouth. “What’s wrong in taking a walk?” she snaps. Reluctantly I drag myself to cover my face with sunscreen lest she find another verbal missile to attack me with.
The dirty, smelly lane is filled with bovines she is too pleased to see. “Cow’s milk!” she smiles happily. “I think we get a lot of cow’s milk around here, look at all these cows.” Before she replaces my early morning coffee with her milk, I stop to talk to a lady groped in front of her doorstep making a design of a sort. I ask the lady the meaning of her design but inside my head I hear my mom telling me, “Milk will make your skin healthy while your black coffee is making you dark, just like this lady here.” I chuckle at the last phrase. Indeed the lady in front of is as dark as the moonless night but I know for sure that coffee has nothing to do with her color.
“Ama, lok dekhey,” I plead. My bowels longing for the hot seat back in our room. I find her eyeing the coconut vendor. “Bhiaya, two coconuts,” she hands over thirty rupees. “Drink this instead, this is healthy.” There she goes again.
Finally after consuming much dust and dirt she decides it’s time for our return but not before venturing into a shop nearby. “Let’s buy a toner and bleach.” I follow her in without any argument. “Maybe we should also take this coconut oil to massage our hair.” She has already picked it out of the shelf. I raise my eyebrows to ask the shopkeeper the amount. I dread the ordeal I’ve to go through with these products.
Oil massage, cleansing, toning we do all after a drink of the coconut milk. “Are we preparing for a modeling project?” I laugh at my own joke while my mom just stares blankly at me. She doesn’t find it funny. “The more we age; the more we have to do all these,” she reasons out.
“Let’s go to that Punjabi dhaba we saw yesterday,” I suggest my mouth watering at the thought of sarson ka saag with makhe di roti. “You want to look like a pig with all that dripping ghee?” Another attack. I silently go out to buy the cucumber she had planned for the healthy salad for lunch.
Ardent fan of Baba Ramdev and his yoga treatment; my mom wakes up each morning twitching her tummy with the loud inhaling and exhaling of her breath. I wonder how she could see my coffee mug with her fingers covering almost everything near her nose and eyes area.
Silently I pick my coffee and head out on the verandah. “Did you put on your sunscreen?” she shouts over her respiration exercises. I head out turning deaf ear. What would few minutes in the early morning sun do to my skin?
I return inside to find her sitting cross-legged and with her lanky limbs flapping like a helpless bird. I pull my laptop, wanting to just look at the pictures of my daughter. She gets up instantly. Baba Ramdev’s asans do work I think, look at the vigor with which my mom got up. “Don’t you dare open that thing!” she warns. I pout and crease my forehead but do not reply.
“You people are turning into lazy pigs with those gadgets keeping you hooked for hours!” I don’t know if she is more angry with me for spending hours with the laptop or angry with the people who designed laptops making people using it ‘lazy’ as she calls it. I shove it away and look at her, a look that says, “you are busy with your breathing, what am I supposed to do?”
“Let’s go out for a walk,” she pulls me up from the corner of the bed, where I’ve made my niche. “Walk?” I almost spit out the last dreg of coffee I had just put in my mouth. “What’s wrong in taking a walk?” she snaps. Reluctantly I drag myself to cover my face with sunscreen lest she find another verbal missile to attack me with.
The dirty, smelly lane is filled with bovines she is too pleased to see. “Cow’s milk!” she smiles happily. “I think we get a lot of cow’s milk around here, look at all these cows.” Before she replaces my early morning coffee with her milk, I stop to talk to a lady groped in front of her doorstep making a design of a sort. I ask the lady the meaning of her design but inside my head I hear my mom telling me, “Milk will make your skin healthy while your black coffee is making you dark, just like this lady here.” I chuckle at the last phrase. Indeed the lady in front of is as dark as the moonless night but I know for sure that coffee has nothing to do with her color.
“Ama, lok dekhey,” I plead. My bowels longing for the hot seat back in our room. I find her eyeing the coconut vendor. “Bhiaya, two coconuts,” she hands over thirty rupees. “Drink this instead, this is healthy.” There she goes again.
Finally after consuming much dust and dirt she decides it’s time for our return but not before venturing into a shop nearby. “Let’s buy a toner and bleach.” I follow her in without any argument. “Maybe we should also take this coconut oil to massage our hair.” She has already picked it out of the shelf. I raise my eyebrows to ask the shopkeeper the amount. I dread the ordeal I’ve to go through with these products.
Oil massage, cleansing, toning we do all after a drink of the coconut milk. “Are we preparing for a modeling project?” I laugh at my own joke while my mom just stares blankly at me. She doesn’t find it funny. “The more we age; the more we have to do all these,” she reasons out.
“Let’s go to that Punjabi dhaba we saw yesterday,” I suggest my mouth watering at the thought of sarson ka saag with makhe di roti. “You want to look like a pig with all that dripping ghee?” Another attack. I silently go out to buy the cucumber she had planned for the healthy salad for lunch.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Me, My daughter and the Moon.
“I wish we could sleep the whole day long,” my daughter says near my ears. I gaze in her eyes about to rebuke her for turning into a lazy fox wanting to sleep the whole day long. But before I can open my mouth, she points towards the full moon peeping through the partly open curtains. “…so that we can watch the beautiful moon throughout the night,” she says dreamily.
I gaze in her eyes for yet another time. But the second time I look at her, it’s with unbelievable surprise. Never knew she had the fascination for moon, just like her mom. “Mama, I just love the full moon and the twinkling stars,” she says as if reaffirming what my heart is feeling.
Never knew a daughter could inherit a mother’s love for objects too. I got up, discarding the tiny emerging sleepiness in my eyes. I opened the curtain a wee bit more and we sat silently staring at the moon.
I looked at my daughter and saw her lost in the moon. I wondered what she could be thinking of; looking at the moon like that. I took her tiny hands in mine and wanted to tell her about all the times I have had secret rendezvous with the moon. The moon had been my close confidant when the complexity of a teenager’s life riddled me. But I skipped that for it’s too early to have her on that plane.
So the mother and daughter duo looked at the moon and I wondered, could there be a father son duo somewhere on the face of the planet Earth sharing such close moments like me and my daughter?
I gaze in her eyes for yet another time. But the second time I look at her, it’s with unbelievable surprise. Never knew she had the fascination for moon, just like her mom. “Mama, I just love the full moon and the twinkling stars,” she says as if reaffirming what my heart is feeling.
Never knew a daughter could inherit a mother’s love for objects too. I got up, discarding the tiny emerging sleepiness in my eyes. I opened the curtain a wee bit more and we sat silently staring at the moon.
I looked at my daughter and saw her lost in the moon. I wondered what she could be thinking of; looking at the moon like that. I took her tiny hands in mine and wanted to tell her about all the times I have had secret rendezvous with the moon. The moon had been my close confidant when the complexity of a teenager’s life riddled me. But I skipped that for it’s too early to have her on that plane.
So the mother and daughter duo looked at the moon and I wondered, could there be a father son duo somewhere on the face of the planet Earth sharing such close moments like me and my daughter?
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