Amma’s Gift (Mother’s gift)
Amma was standing at the pearly white gates of heaven and the angels were ushering her in. The angels had a beautiful smile on their face and Ma was happy.
For the past ten nights, Mohit was having this recurring dream and it had been ten days since his mother had passed.
Many years ago, he had experienced the same dream, except at that time, it was his father who was entering the pearly gates of heaven.
Both the dreams had occurred to him for ten days after the parent’s death. When his father passed, he thought of it as a sign from the Gods, that his father had safely entered heaven.
Mohit was a Hindu, and Hindus do not believe in heaven or hell. Unlike the religions of the East, Hindus believe that the body is separate from the soul. While the body eventually decomposes or becomes ash, the soul continues its journey.
‘As a person puts on new garments, giving up old ones, similarly, the soul accepts new material bodies, giving up the old and useless ones’, says Lord Krishna in the Bhagwat Gita.
Then why did he have this dream, he often wondered. Why did he think of the pearly gates and the angels. Why did he attribute the dream as a sign that his parents had entered Heaven? Mohit often pondered about this strange dream. Maybe his catholic school education had made him sub-consciously believe in heaven and hell.
‘Wake up, the priests will be here soon‘, said Priya, his wife of ten years.
Hindu rituals performed after the death of a person are very intense. Mohit neither understood the mantras, nor did he know why they were chanted. He mindlessly repeated after the priests and did exactly what they asked him to. His brain often went blank during the process, but somehow it was this emptiness of the brain that helped him mourn his parents and come to terms with their passing.
Today was the eleventh day after his mother’s death. As per the Hindu traditions, rituals are performed for twelve days and on the thirteenth day, friends and family are invited for a feast. Officially the mourning period ends on the thirteenth day.
Priya was busy making arrangements for the feast. Two more days and the house would be filled with about a hundred guests. Clothes would have to be purchased for the close relatives, silver coins for the siblings and gifts for the nieces and nephews. In addition, small trinkets would have to be given to all the guests, as a token of gratitude. Caterers to help with the food, chairs and tables had to be rented ….. ending the mourning period is almost a celebration and it required careful planning.
Mohit was blissfully unaware of the preparations. Priya, his wife took care of them. Thanks to the modern day convenience of credit cards and home delivery, Priya did not seem very hassled.
The entire milieu was surreal, Mohit was lost in his thoughts most of the time.
‘We will need to decide on the photo’, said Priya.
One of the traditions required a picture of the deceased to be framed.
The living room wall had a framed black-and-white portrait of his grandparents. The picture was taken on the 84th birthday of his grandfather. Tatha (grandpa) was dressed in a Silk jibba(shirt) and Patti (grandma) was wearing the traditional nine yard sari. A garland made of plastic red roses was hung on it.
Another black-and-white portrait of this great-grand parents was hung close to his grandparents. This was taken on the 60th birthday of his grandfather.
Sixty and Eighty are milestone birthdays in Indian tradition. Unfortunately, his great-grandfather had died young and hence a photo from his sixtieth birthday was selected.
Next to his great grandfather, was a portrait of his late father. This picture had a golden frame, with a garland made of sandalwood flowers. This was taken on the sixtyth birthday of his father. Now that Amma had passed it was time to replace Appa’s (fathers) solo picture with one that had both Amma and Appa in it.
His Amma was a very simple woman. She was a quintessential homemaker and not a very educated woman. But it was she, who had taught him to read and write.
By the time, he was in middle school, Mohit was more educated than her. Though she did not understand what was in his books, she would always sit beside him and lovingly watch him do his homework. She was so proud of him when he received his gold medal at the university.
Appa, on the other hand, rarely spent time with him. A quick glance of Math and Science marks before sighing the report card was the most he would do. Arts and fine-arts were a waste of time, according to him.
Mohit wanted to study commerce in his eleventh, but Appa did not permit him . Irrespective of interest, Engineering was the only option available for Mohit. After Engineering Mohit pursued an MBA in finance, and has been working in finance since.
‘I could have achieved the same if I had studied commerce’, Mohit once said to Priya.
Appa was not a cruel man, he had never hit Mohit and rarely had he raised his voice either. But he expected perfection. Everything in the house had to be in its place, no slouching while watching Television, food had to cooked perfectly to his liking, newspaper neatly folded once it was read … The list was endless. It was Amma’s responsibility to keep things perfect.
Mohit’s favorite dishes were prepared only when Appa was not in town. Amma had no favorites. No favorite colour, no favorite movie actor and no favorite restaurant either. Her preferences were what Appa wanted and she lived her life exactly the way Appa wished.
If there was anything that was Amma’s, it was the radio set and her little garden.
She listened to ‘Vividh Bharati’ on her radio. Hindi songs from the bygone era. She would even hum these old tunes, when she thought no one was watching. But the radio was switched off as soon as Appa entered the house, and was never be played on holidays. Appa was not even aware of her interest in music.
The garden was not just a hobby, it was her oxygen. She spent hours tending the plants, the flowers were her only friends.
Mohit had dedicated his success to his mother, albeit secretly. Never had he mentioned it to her. She was the invisible force that had driven him to achieve so much in life.
Mohit had worked so hard to be a topper, just so he could see his mother smile. Always, always without exception, Amma would have hot kesari waiting for him on report card day.
Teary eyed he looked at the pictures in the photo album. There was a beautiful picture of his Amma and Appa, taken on Appa’s 60th birthday. Amma was wearing the traditional nine yard sari and had a soft smile on her face, Appa was wearing Veshti (dhoti) and white shirt, sitting erect with both his arms on the knees.
Mohit could just continue the tradition and have this portrait framed.
He turned the pages of the album and saw a picture of Amma, she was laughing in this one. Not smiling, she was laughing.
The photo was taken when they had visited Ma’s hometown a few years ago. She proudly showed Mohit and Priya around the little village, took them to the primary school where she had studied, and then to the river bed. She laughed and her eyes danced with joy as she told them stories about her childhood. Mohit had taken this picture candidly, she was playing in the river water. Mohit had never seen his mother so happy.
‘Let’s get this picture framed’, he said to Priya, ‘and also, instead of hanging it in the hall, let us keep this picture in the second bedroom facing the garden’.
He then tuned the radio to ‘Vividh Bharati’, lost in thoughts he wondered how his Amma, who was raised in a village in the deep south, knew the lyrics to the Hindi songs. Some things about Amma will always remain a mystery.
Priya smiled to herself, she was surprised and yet happy, that Mohit had picked this picture of Amma to be framed.
Mohit was like his mother — gentle, caring and thoughtful. And that was the best gift her Mother-in-law had given her.
