One day at a time

There are days when you think that you will not succumb to the need to put your thoughts down in writing. You are afraid of what someone else will say. You are afraid of being judged as vulnerable or weak or opportunistic or overdramatic or anything else under the sun. It might be that no one at all reads these words but even then putting them on my blog is never an easy thing. I keep wondering if sharing my thoughts will actually benefit anyone. I usually write about the difficulties faced almost daily simply because I have gone through much alone and there have been days when dragging myself out of bed to face one more moment of doing what I do seems too much for me to handle. I keep thinking that if I can manage that, others who are struggling with similar or even different problems may find in themselves the strength from some remote place within to pull through as well. I often depend on words to inspire me, to keep me sane, to fire up memories or even to just be soothed. Perhaps my words have done something like that for one other person or persons. Perhaps they may actually pull someone away from the brink of utter hopelessness. Believe me, more people teeter on the brink than you would believe.

Today was not much of a happy day for me except for the news that my husband has managed to get a week off after a month of stay abroad. So we finally get to spend some time together as a family. Being alone for two months with a gap of three days in between isn’t very easy when you have to deal with a child with autism. His sibling is a great help. Appu is a darling but without little Mahi to shore me up, I don’t know how I could have held on so long. So today when after days of wrangling and changing minds, her sleepover plans finalized, she was thrilled. Her exams will be over tomorrow and she plans to go to her friend’s house directly from school. She is back the day after.

I see her happy face as my heart feels a bit heavier. She is growing up and going away from me so soon. And then Appu pipes up “Amma, I want to go on a sleepover too.” And my heart just breaks. My son is fifteen and he wants to do things like anyone else. But where are his friends? Whom can he hang around with? Where can he go on his own?

It is hard to explain the hurt. It is hard to control my too-swift tears. But I say cheerfully “ Appu, you are having that awesome Holi party and lunch at school day after. You don’t need a sleepover!” He grins back at me and says “yeah I’m going to have a lot of fun! Mahi, I hope you enjoy yourself and have lots of fun too!” He then proceeds to tell her what to pack and how she must not forget this and that. Mahi turns to me with a stricken expression “Amma, I feel bad now. I wish he could go on sleepovers too!” I try to smile. I tell her its okay. He has his own fun. And besides Acha will take all of us on holiday pretty soon.

And then I run upstairs, close the door of my room and cry. I know its silly but then sometimes anyone can be silly. I wish for ridiculous things. I wish for miracles. I finally wish that my tears can stop so I could go back downstairs and act normal again. They do stop. They always do. I wash my face and practice smiling one more time as I stare at my image in the mirror. And I go back down and help her pack. Its just another day after all.

Summer Heat

The air is still – so very still. I can feel its weight on my bare shoulders as I sit to write. My wayward tresses are tied into a knot and set atop my head so that they don’t bother me in this heat. My arms are bare as well in deference to the rising temperature. I sip water from my glass every few minutes to stave off the dryness in my throat. The blades of the fan can barely pierce the thick miasma of heat that envelops the room. I look out the full length windows at the wayward pumpkin creeper sprawled on the grass. I look at the tiny and all too scarce mangoes on my mango tree. I look at the grape vine which tries to grow year after year but manages only a few spurts before losing all ambition. I see the ginger cat and the striped gray one and the mottled black one in various poses of relaxation on my cane chairs and even on the tiles of the porch. They are not my cats. But they do seem to like my house.

The plants and my tree look fresh in their green attire. Even the cats who should technically feel worse than I do, look quite comfortable in this stifling heat. They simply stretch out a bit more, open their mouths and drowse off in endless sleep. I envy them sorely as I recall my failed attempt at a nap earlier this afternoon. How do they do it I wonder.

The heat seems more oppressive because there is a promise of rain somewhere in the distance in both space and time. It is always thus before the expected relief of a few hours of coolness. Such is life as well after all. It is usually just before a breakthrough or the first sighting of success that things seem the darkest and the most difficult. The tough part is hanging on, waiting in hope that the heaviness will ease. Most people,I suppose, give up just before things get better. How would they know that if they had held on just a little while longer that things would indeed become better?

The heat will get worse as the summer starts in earnest but just when we complain the loudest, the weather will turn and the rain will come in to cool the evenings and nights. Here in Bangalore we see rains mostly in the evenings. The rains are more civilized somehow with their polite pattering and sometimes slightly louder drumming. Back home in Kerala, the rain is a mad passion inciting in watchers the desire to revel in life, in lust, in creative productivity of the highest order. The rains are never tame in Kerala.

I have to get back to work and making dinner soon enough. The heat has made me a dull, lethargic and rather lazy creature. For now, I sit right under the fan whose sounds are more soothing than its actions. I type away, my mind on auto pilot as I steal glances at the lawns just a few feet away so I too can feel as cool as the pumpkin plant with its bright yellow trumpet flowers resting on the just-watered grass. Even the heat has its pleasures after all…

Losing friends

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She has a little face that sometimes gets lost when her thick tresses take over. She has a hesitant expression which marks a departure from the careless childish confidence that was her hallmark when she was younger. At twelve, Mahi is changing. She is not yet on the cusp of womanhood but she is getting confused about why her body is more girly and why she suddenly likes a bit of prettiness about her. I watch her without her knowing. I don’t have to look to know what she’s up to. I am her mother after all. She sits there lost in thought dreaming of something that I have no part in. If she feels my eyes on her she will smile. Sometimes she will come and give me a hug. Then we both get back to what we were doing. She doesn’t have to talk or hear me talk to feel loved.

The other day she came in looking unlike her cheery self. She had just gotten back from school and was tired and hot. I was brushing my hair and she plonked herself on the chair and watched me. I asked her if her day was alright. Why was she looking sad? She replied that no, it was not alright and the little face crumpled into tears. I didn’t go hug her. I only let her talk for a while as she followed me downstairs while I made a snack for her.

She told me her best ever friend in school was leaving. The friend who was so like her that everyone thought they were sisters. The friend who took care of her in school when she had a tummy ache. Her friend didn’t want to go. She didn’t want her friend to go. Everyone including the most popular boy in class was crying. She was heartbroken. Her skinny frame shook with the force of her sobs. I stroked her back and listened for a while. I then told her that yes it was very hard to lose a friend. It always is. It always will be. I asked her to imagine for a moment how much harder it would be on the other child who would lose not one, but all of her friends at a stroke. Also if they were very good friends, then they would find some way to keep in touch. They could go to each other’s houses. They could chat on the phone. They could go to other birthday parties together. And if she didn’t end up doing that, then she should accept that they both had learnt to make new friends. Even growing apart over time was okay. That was all part of being a big girl.

I don’t know how much of it she understood but she sat obediently and listened. She ate her food and went out to play. I checked on her as I sat working with Appu and doing my writing. She was still blue. I was also trying to finish making dinner and she followed me around the kitchen desultorily till I told her to sit on the counter. We would make ourselves some juice and talk. And that’s what we did.

I told her I wished I could take the sadness from her eyes because I could handle it. I told her that life would throw more painful lessons at her and I would not be able to protect her from that. I told her if I could I would keep her with me and fight all her battles for her but I could not. She would forget to be sad soon, despite how bad she felt now. In time, she would make more friends. In time, she would not feel hurt anymore. In time, she would have lots of memories with her friends to keep her smiling. And since she was so little, it would not take much time at all.

She was smiling halfway through our chat. She gave me a big hug and trotted off to set the table with her reluctant brother. Later at night when she came to hug me good night she thanked me and said “Amma, you always know how to make me feel better.”

I felt a sweet ache in my heart as I watched the lanky child go up to her room. I don’t know why that day my heart was as full as hers was. Perhaps I too was thinking of lost friends. Perhaps it was because I wanted so badly to make her feel good again that I wondered how long I would possess that magic. Would she not grow up very soon and see me as ordinary instead of this wonderful creature she loved to bits? Would I be able to sit and let her deal with her hurt herself when she grew into a young woman? It hurts to hold someone too close and it hurts even more to sit back and watch them learn. I hope my little one grows up to be strong and confident. That would be the best legacy I can leave her…