Deathly thought

The Staffroom during recess time is far noisier than any classroom left unattended by the teachers. “If my husband is thinking of getting married after my death, I’ll recommend your name,” Deki says in her high bass voice. Others giggle. “Deki is getting her husband married.” That guarantees some queer glances from the lopens sitting in the faraway corner.
Nonchalantly we resume our topic. “I see her genuine love for kids,” Deki adds trying to sound serious. Deki and serious talk is two different end of the rope. “She would be good to kids even if she is their stepmother,” her thoughts go on multiplying.
I know why she is saying that. She is holding a baby book I had bought for one of my friend who is a first time expectant mother. Leafing through the cute contents of the baby book, Deki can’t help but see through those pages and read my genuine love for children.
Among quakes’ of laughter I drift into my thoughts ( so, like me!). Taking Deki’s cue about her death, I think of my own death. Suppose people are made to talk about me on my DD(death day) ;would they have the same pleasant kin of opinion like Deki?
Well, let me try. I conjure up the first speaker. Some body randomly from the crowd of my acquaintances. “She never looked at the sunny side of life. So darn boring woman! Good Riddance!” I cringed at that thought. My very much alive soul reposted,” if only you knew how I always lived in the imaginary sunny world.” The person left the podium with an air of self- importance, having broken the ice.
Then appeared another friend,” she always brought pickles.” I let out a giggle thinking of how popular my homemade pickle gets in the staffroom. Well, I never held myself responsible for the pungent smell that others who went home for lunch complained of.
“She never beat us!” I heard a group of my students shout. As I was reveling in that line, I heard some of my male colleagues speaking under their breath,” she spoilt the kids that way!”
“Ewww, bad,bad,bad “ That’s what my li’l daughter says whenever she doesn’t like something that’s happening around her. So I borrowed that line from her as this spoiling thing crept in my mind.
I changed the position of my footsie, pulling the one that was crisscrossed to a bent at the knee position. I should have changed my line of thought but that’s what I wanted to do when I changed my leg’s position. But then I heard a distant murmur coming from across wires and cables, “She was so full of herself; in her blog she would write about herself , her kids, her family, her world…” I cut short that with,”hey! I know nothing to write about anything else.” With that line my mind shut all lines for further deliberation.

What am I asking?

Relation of the heart is the easiest and the most complex of all feelings on Earth. You try to solve the complexities of it and it shoves one further into the wider complex nature of it.
I sat watching one of my teenage days’ movie. The hit song from that move was an anthem my best friend and I played every morning before setting off from home to school. The two of us know how the melodious,”mera mann kyun tumhe chahe….” Would send shivers in our teenage heart.
Love has always moved every heart. I am sure this fact can’t be denied by even the hardest of the hardest hearted person (if there exists any). Love has come easily in every heart and the living example is all of us dwelling on this planet. My six years old daughter talks a lot about her classmate,Jigsel. When her cousin who is her senior in school tease her with Jigsel I see a shy smile spreading on my daughter’s face. I know this is just a child’s fascination for the other gender but what I realized is that love has no set age. It can happen to anybody.
But as we grow up love too starts getting complicated in its ways. The mere fascination of having that person as a playmate changes to the immature obsession for the other gender. The adolescent years are the most beautiful phase of this feeling called love (this is my purely opinion based on the assumption that such kind of term suits only the teenagers).
The fantasy of having a fulfilled life of a fairytale ending dissolves every inch of our teenage heart. But now that I’m an adult much deep into the phase after the “…and they lived happily ever after,” I wonder why there are no fairytales that talks about the life after the THE END? We never question that even now when we read it to our kids during the bedtime. We simply end it at THE END.
But if only we had the wisdom of questioning what actually happens after the THE END in any love tales, we would be well prepared for the reality that waits in the fantasy driven feeling we so much worship. But again, sometimes I feel are we unprepared for the phase ‘cause we have never been told about it in the stories?
I look at several marriages around me. I ain’t claiming the institution of marriage to be a failure but in every marriage I’ve seen the best of the lovers claiming complacency to have marred the very essence of the love filled relationship.
Why does the spark of magic of merely holding hands disappear in an aged marriage? Why doesn’t the same kiss turn the prince side of the spouse on? Why does other feelings like anger and frustration become so easy predator to what was once a feeling of love? I ain’t claiming that all marriages end up in such lousy manner. Yet! In all marriages there are disagreements and arguments (although the degree varies). And with every small tiffs the chasm of differences widen.
Some people are wise enough to quickly mend up the walls of their broken heart and change the foundation of the bridge before the chasm eats up the whole bridge. But not all are blessed with such aptitude. There are unfortunate few who give up on the battle of commitment even well before they give a try.
Love turned sour is the most bitter of all kind of negative feeling. While there are people seeking to relive the love they couldn’t in the past there are people who are having difficulty in handling their present love situation. While some are having difficulty solving their current differences, there are people who shed even the complexity of the future.
Yet! Amidst all, my question still remains unanswered…is marriage the alarm clock in the dreamy world of love? Lets ponder!

A Promise

Holding her frail hand I mutter silent prayers. No particular image of God comes in my mind. I just see her face and the pain written on it. I stroke her hands lightly wanting to put my hands across her temple and kiss it lightly. But I want her to sleep, so I just keep my hands on her and say silent prayers.

I stare at her little frame of body and try to remember the nine months of my stay in that warm womb inside her. I try to visualize a tiny dot that became me in that womb, I fail miserable. But I know I must have spend my time inside her kicking her. She throws her feet in a slight kicking motion in her sleep. Can she actually hear my thoughts I wonder. Maybe!

When I was inside her did I hear her thoughts? Maybe!

Today watching her gives me a different feeling. Just few days ago we were in the hospital ward. I was busy with my word game when I heard the shrill cry of the nurse on duty,"zangmo, you doing my work?" I lifted my head to see my mother extending her hand to pull the tangled IV line of the patient next to her. Although the Nurse meant to rebuke her I heard a soft reproach that sounded like affectionate cooing. I was proud of my mother. Although in pain herself she could think of helping her neighbour.

For five nights, I spent my time ferrying patients with dangling urine and other bags to toilet and for their usual walks. At times holding on to pus filled bags of strangers and holding their hands walking to the toilet, I wondered why don't I cringe with yuck! this is dirty feeling? But looking at my mom, I knew where that helping nature came from.

Its bath time. I am scrubbing her lithe body and I ask her about the first time she gave bath to me." I was scared the first time I put you in the tub," she smiles weakly. I understand what she is trying to explain. First-born is always a difficult task. But giving bath to my mom I felt a sense of fulfillment fleet, the same one that you feel when you give bath to your first born for the first time without fear.

We sit silently yet reading eachother's thoughts. We sit talking to eachother, sharing basic dreams shared by a woman with another woman. We watch TV shows wishing it would make our hearts merry. We eat dishes that has been seasoned with love we feel for eachother. We finally put our heads on the pillow for it's dark outside. I curl beside her and imagine my tiny body curled up in her womb. I uncurl myself, stretch my limbs, hold out my hands and gently place it on her wishing every pain from her body would come to me with my hand touching her.

A warm trickle reminds me I need to make a promise, sincere and genuine...So, with my hands still placed on her hands, I silently divert my attention from my prayers and make a promise,"dear mom, I shall always strive to be like you, truthful and good to all." I allow the tears to mingle with the silent vow so that it seals the honesty with which I make this pledge.