People

Remembering Mother

BIRENDRA SINGH HUJA

Every one has a different memory of one's mother. Even amongst siblings -- same mother, but different perspectives.

But there are more commonalities than differences.

Our mother loved us. We were more dear to her than herself -- even in her dreams, our joys were hers. She always prayed for our happiness, peace and comfort. She would always wish her years of life were added to her children's.

Seeing us eat and enjoy a meal was always more important and satisfying to her than own desire and her need to eat.

Whenever I was in distress, a caressing hug was all that was needed. She would hold me and I would snuggle to the point of being almost one with her.

I remember leaving home for Col. Brown’s (school in Dehradun, India) when I was but eight and she did not cry when I left, for she wanted me to be strong. I am sure she did after I left, just as I did. She wanted us to be strong with our decisions and convictions and courage. "himmat karey insaan taa(n) ke nahi(n) ho sakda.- With courage, nothing is impossible."

She was simple, honest and straight forward, but never insensitive. I do not remember her yelling at me, though I do remember her gentle spanking only before getting into the bucket when I did not want to bathe, or when I would not get out of the bucket as I was having so much fun being in the water. I must have been but three years old.

She loved to cook. Possibly our love for good food can be attributed to her. In Mawana, the sugar factory settlement about 50 miles from Delhi, where we then lived, we had three water buffaloes and a cow and Bibiji, as we addressed our mother, would churn soured malaai in a large black earthen matki (clay pot holding about ten litres) with a wooden cover and a churning stick.

She would place her feet on either side of the vessel waist to hold it firm and upright, and then pull the ropes back and forth, thus swirling the churning stick and extracting butter. Once the latter was removed, the residue liquid we and the servants would drink a little and the rest would be fed to the animals.

The best part was when she would boil the butter to extract the ghee for our daily cooking. The residue solids she would cook with besan and wadis -- "makkhan di subzi"! Utterly delicious -- I am drooling even as I write.

The festivities will forever remain memorable.

In Spring -- Basant -- our clothes were dyed yellow, to capture the movement of the mustard flowers in the countryside, blowing in the wind like sea waves.

But the most memorable was Diwali. For days Biji would make confections. I specially remember murundey --  crunchy balls made of puffed corn, wheat and rice, held together with gurrh (jaggery - raw sugar made in the village by boiling sugar cane juice); jalebis, gulab jamun (she was well known for them in the family.).  There would be boxes of these sweets stacked up as gifts for friends and family - or those received from them. Tons of sweets were exchanged during Diwali. It was the month when halwa-ees (cooks specializing in making sweets) wielded power.

On Diwali night, biji would offer a brief pooja to Laxmi, the Hindu goddess who held sway that night.

I should explain here that Biji, before being married to my father, was brought up in a Hindu Arya Samaj family. [Her name was Shanti Devi.] Though the rituals were anathema to Sikhs and my father looked at them askance, he was tolerant of them because he too, though Sikh, had been raised by a Hindu mother who did aarti by the tulsi tree every night.

Therefore, our house would be full of flowers, all the walls adorned with mustard-oil deeyas (earthenware lamps). The doors would be decorated; lanterns every where. We had our sparklers. Fire crackers thundered and exploded through the night. 

All the doors would be kept open. Bibi ji would put silver coins in a thaali (platter), daub us -- and everything else within sight: coins, flowers, sweets, with saffron tikkas -- and would then perform an aarti chant to Laxmi.

Al of it followed by a feast. We would indulge to our capacity.

We, the children, would soon head back to our school hostels. If the festivities continued thereafter, they would have been muted due to our absence.

When we came home on holidays during the three winter months, we had an intense time indulging in good food and lots of love.

But life was not the same once we left home. I resisted growing up, but time changes us slowly but surely. But coming home was always a wonderful experience. We were always received by our parents in person, It was so rare that only a driver or Bhaaiyya ji would receive us at the station. I do not recollect if it ever happened. We were received in person by our father almost every time. 

Once we moved to America and on every occasion thereon when we went back, Papa ji (my father, Sardar Jai Singh), would come to the station personally and we would be received with marigold garlands which hung down to our feet. This went on even after our mother passed away.

In his last years, when he was feeble, he would send Bhaaiyya ji with garlands to receive us.

[Bhaaiyya ji was someone who had joined our household initially as live-in help at the young age of 12 or so. Gradually, as he grew older, he became part of the family, and was treated almost like the elder son, his wife as a daughter-in-law. He was considered by the children of the family as a family elder, hence the honorific by which he was known and addressed.]

Coming home was always immersed in love and protocol.

In 1970, before I returned to India, when I decided to get married but against the wishes of my parents, Bibi ji rose above the social constraints to come and visit us in Hawaii to bless me on my marriage. I was still her baby, she accepted me the way I was. It was possibly her first travel outside the country, but it was important enough.

We had received a letter about her flight details and arrival time. However, her plane arrived a few hours early. With our address in her hand but unable to converse in English, she waited patiently after hours of travel till someone was able to contact me. She was truly happy to be here.

We took her sightseeing around the island. And for long walks to enjoy the blossoms. She really felt Hawaii was heaven on earth.

On her way back to India, while visiting Koku Bhapa ji (my brother, S. Satyendra Singh, currently Mayor of Charlottesville, Virginia), she tripped and hurt herself. It was the first sign of Motor Neuron Paralysis but the diagnosis came later in India.

I went back to India after a few years, and then again a number of times, so that the children could be with her.

The last few years of her life were difficult … with a decreasing ability to walk, then to talk, and later needing total care. My father and mother slept in their room throughout her illness. We tried to make her as comfortable as possible. We were fortunate that we also had Rabi Bhapa ji (another brother of mine) there to support them through the difficult times. Bhaayya ji or Biju was at her side all the time, day and night.

They did what I could not do for her. Thanks to Waheguru for sending them into our lives.

I still recollect my last visit to see our mother.  As I left home for the last time, she was sitting in the driveway on the white wicker chair. I kissed her goodbye and I knew that I would never see her again. We, Papa ji and I, had talked about what needed to be done if she got sick. With her condition and protracted slow suffering, if she ever got a cold, it was not be treated except for comfort measures. For fear of developing pneumonia, which could prove terminal. An event that eventually happened. 

Born on September 15, 1919, she was free of the world on February 28, 1978, and became one with Waheguru. I felt so distraught that I could not bring myself to go to India.

But Koku Bhapa ji and the family went to Sakarwadi where her ashes were immersed in the river Godavari, at a spot where she used to sit oftentimes with her feet in the water. She used to go for walks every evening when our parents lived in Sakarwadi for about eighteen years.

I too had gone on walks with her there many times, and now remember them with much fondness.

May 22, 2013

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