Waking Up

Her ears woke up long before her eyes did. They heard the musical, rhythmic chanting of RamNam (literally, the name of God or Ram). Her father would be the one softly chanting in a voice so steeped with devotion, it brought tears to her eyes. She would lie with her eyes closed and simply listen. Her father would be up by four in the morning everyday and perform his ritual of chanting the Lakshmi Sahasra Naamam (the thousand names of the Goddess Lakshmi) and RamNam followed by reading from the Gita at his little corner of the bedroom before leaving for work at five. Agarbattis would give off their fragrance of devotion and for the little girl all was right with the world.

Years later she would wake up to the sounds of her roommates getting up or the early morning coffee bell at the girls’ hostel. Those mornings saw her chanting for a few minutes before the real start of day as she had promised her father. The rest of the day would go by as a blur but the mornings were always the same and she never faltered in her routine.

Much later when she awoke next to her husband in her new world, she found it more difficult to keep the promise to her father. Sometimes her rosary would have to be hidden since there didn’t seem to be a place for it in the new scheme of things but whenever she felt lost and alone, she would pray mentally to get some solace. But she felt like it was a thing of ridicule and a habit that she must overcome rather than continue.

And even more years later, she awoke free from all thought of chanting or God’s name or anything connected to it. Her mind would be full of the list of things to do as soon as she woke up. No time for contemplation or remembrance or even a tug of memory for her childhood mornings. Now she would be up thinking about whether her maid would be in or not, whether she had enough dosa batter for the family or would it be enough for her children who would eat nothing else – whether the school uniforms were ironed or not, whether she’d make chutney or make do with toast, whether she’d have time for a cup of coffee before the morning’s work is begun. None of the thoughts she woke up with were restful. None of the sounds she hears when waking bring a smile to her face. It is usually the raucous noise of construction or the blaring of the loudspeakers from a nearby Ashram that wake her up.

It has been too long since she woke up with joy in her heart and a prayer on her lips to welcome the new day. Her waking colors her whole day and so her whole day is spent in doing chores on her list or trying to get things done. Her father’s voice still echoes in some dim recess of her heart trying to find a way out so that his grandchildren can have the pleasure of a joyous waking up. She had let his loss bury not only him but also all his lessons and a part of her childhood which she could not pass to her children.