I cried today. A deep, satisfying cry. The one that starts somewhere in your heart and sputters upwards forming the tears in your eyes and wets your lips. The cause : nostalgia. Its amazing how time moves and shifts our priorities. All we need is a moment of respite to let that feeling wash over us once again.
My father had meticulously digitized and catalogued all my pictures that he could find. It was my life in technicolor. He had painstakingly filed every letter I sent from boarding school and any other relevant documents in numbered binders. Perusing it I realized how much i wanted to go back to the time. The time which would never come back. The time I spent with my parents. The time when I was truly, sincerely happy. And it made me hug my parents and cry. My dad was dumbfounded and swatted me away. He doesn’t know how to react in oversensitive cheesy situations such as this. My mom held me tight.
I love my mom. I cant say this enough. Indian men are generally spoiled with love. Me more so than others. Not spoiled in a 'rich parent doting on the only son kind of way'. Our family is distinctly middle class. But as Vince Chase would say it,’We were rich in love’. The most unadulterated, rich, heady love. And my Mom epitomizes this most of all. She is of the nurturing kind. That’s her one overpowering quality amongst many that come to define her. It was on show then when she raised me and its on show now when she is raising my ten year old brother. She never shouts, is never irritated by childish pandering, always listening, always nurturing.

I have always wondered about the transactional nature of love. You give some and expect something in return. It occurs in every form. The romantic lovers who exchange their love for each other. The rich sugar daddy who exchanges money for love. The pretty housewives who exchange it for some botox and sunshine in St. Barts. I do not doubt the sincerity of the love itself, but our propensity to seek it in return. You always expect a return of investment.

The only person oblivious to this fact is my Mom. I can truly say that. She loves me unconditionally and I am forever grateful for it. I get to see her usually once a year. We talk once every few days. Not much words are exchanged. Just an assurance that we are both doing well. But we do not need words. Even our silences convey a thousand thoughts. I know her voice. Every undulating modulation associated with a mood. She is always tranquil and serene. The voice of reason in the family. She is full of devotion. At night she sings hymns in her sweet voice and in the morning I wake up to devotional songs that she plays on our century old Murphy radio while she cooks breakfast.

The byproduct of such complete faith in the Almighty is that she is never fazed in any situation. In fact, when cancer struck me it was my dad who trembled and has been forever anxious about my health. My mom on the other hand was her calm self. She just prayed. And her serenity rubbed off on me. I knew I was alright because she said so. Every time I am in a sticky state of affairs or need a task fulfilled I ask her to pray for me and I just know that I will come out of that situation just fine. I guess that’s the power of love and belief.
Her belief in God and my love for her.