Mama Mia!

Ever since I began my long journey from Chennai to Kolkata, my mother had been faithfully carrying out one ritual. The day I board the train, she would wake up early in the morning, some days it is as early as half past three, and would prepare food packets for my journey. I do not like the food available at the pantry car in the train, but love to have home-cooked food, and I do not need to remind my mother about this, even before I could tell her, she is prepared to get things ready for me. I really wonder how many people would be prepared to sacrifice sleep and do this for me; I know a couple of others may also do this for me without my asking, but I feel sad to ask my mother to do this for me any longer, due to her health conditions.

I know my mother gets the best of what is available for me, and sometimes my niece had been telling me that more special dishes are prepared at home when I am there, and that she was envious of it. Most often we take for granted the goodness of people around us, who slog to make our lives a little more enjoyable; the hardship, pain and suffering that the parents go through is most often not recognized. I wonder if there is any other way of life or profession which is more unrecognized, unrewarded than that of being parents. In the case of my mother, after sending me with food that she had cooked for my journey, she would make it a point to know if the food was alright on the way… Such is the care that my mother shows towards me.

I have seen the worst happening to my mother, and there were several occasions when she single-handedly shielded the five of us siblings from the onslaught of my uncle, who under the influence of alcohol chased us out of our home. My father being in military service was not available close at hand to take good care of us, but my mother was to play many roles during our young formative years. Herself almost illiterate, she did not know how to express her love for the children, and there were several occasions during my younger days when I had felt that she did not love me sufficiently, and had even shared this with my elder brother once. It took me many years to understand that her love for me was no less.

It is true that I never got a letter written by my mother, because she could not write; she managed to learn to sign her name, and just a few years ago was learning the read the Bible, and therefore it would be unfair to expect a letter written by her. She would dictate a letter to either my brothers or sister and they would write the same. There was not a single time that my mother visited me in the boarding house I spent four years in, and my father visited only at the time of admission. When I would see all the other friends receiving parents and relatives from home on Sundays, I could not think this would happen in my case. I knew for sure I could not expect my mother to find the place, the route for which was quite complicated. And yet I have no regrets for not visiting me even once.

During the holidays this time, on several occasions I had noticed that when my father and I would be resting, she would be in the kitchen preparing some special snacks for me. Given that she has high blood pressure, and sugar, she needed sufficient rest, and yet she was happy to give her best for me. In fact she would do the same for all my other brothers and sister too. Some years ago, I had felt that she was partial towards two of my siblings, but now I know she loves and cares for all of us equally. There is great joy in my mother when offering her best for me and my other brothers and sister, and she would go all the way to do it, if she could. Her own comfort and priorities were only secondary to our well-being. I am thankful to God for such a wonderful mother.

Married to Martyrdom

I should admit that I am not very favorable to soldiers, the men and women in uniform, fighting to protect the nation from intruders and enemies. Not even because my father happens to be a former soldier, having served the nation for some 30 years as foot-soldier. I have not experienced anything which made me feel a sense of animosity towards these patriotic men, but I know deep within I am not in favor of this class of people. Does a country need soldiers, at all? Can’t we do away with soldiers, who are paid to protect the nation and the people, and who in turn are expected to pay back to the nation with their blood.

Today as I watched the Republic Day parade in Delhi, there was the awarding ceremony. The prime minister paid his tribute to the ‘amar jawan’ (immortal soldiers), by placing a wreath at India Gate memorial. The first citizen of the nation had awarded the brave soldiers with Ashoka Chakra medals, for their bravery. The soldiers who had died while protecting the national boundary, and fighting against insurgents and terrorists, are given great regard and respect by the nation. They are considered the nation’s pride, and we glory in them. But behind most of the soldiers, especially the foot-soldiers like my father, there is yet another self, which is often not talked about.

I have heard it from my father that he joined the Indian army, when he was barely 18, with education which was too little to join the army. He had to bribe the school authorities to give a certificate saying he had completed class 8, while in fact he had completed only class 5. The purpose? Not that he had great patriotic spirit, and a desire to give his life for the nation. No, not at all. He wanted a job, and it was easy to get into the army with such low academic qualification, and so he did. I had an opportunity to visit one of his camps, a few years prior to his retirement, and I was not pleased at the way he was treated by his superiors! But that is a different story.

Since my father was most often on duty, we were under the care of my mother, who had to take care of the five of us; she had to look after our education, farming, feasts and festivals. My father visited us twice a year, one annual leave and another casual leave, and often we would look forward to his coming, because we felt quite secure under his care, more than that of my mother. But one thing was for sure, we all missed the loving care of the father; it was only after his retirement that I came close to him. Being an introvert, I could hear my father pour out his real self, only under the influence of alcohol, and at other times, he was soft-spoken. I feel he too missed us all very much during his lonely battle with life in the army camps for so many years.

It is possible that we cannot altogether abolish army in a country, unless all the nations of the world decide to do so, and divert the money they would otherwise use to maintain the army, for developmental works, such as providing scholarship for rural education, job opportunities to the unemployed, research facilities on culture and religions, to name a few. But I feel sad when we hear the stories of army men living inhuman lives in the camps, and some of them even committing suicide due to loneliness and meaninglessness in the midst of adverse climatic and social conditions. Do we need to protect the land by spilling the blood of innocent men and women, and encourage it in the name of patriotism and bravery? We may have to look for alternative ways of protecting the nation, if at all there is a grave need, and not throw the lives of gullible men and women before the gun-point!