Today, I took a break from my normal day and spent it wisely – mostly reading Dianne’s blog. I had been busy with my German classes and photography work, keeping myself away from my much-needed reading and writing dose.
Reading her blog made me wonder about many things and I ended up writing 2 stories. One of them I will share here, while other will have to wait.
I was reading an article ‘Memory-Go-Round’, in the said blog and it got me wondering about my first memory, unlike my school days, which I hated so much, I remember most of my younger years. I can recall my memories up to the time when I started talking.
My very first memory needs a bit clarification like,
- Duppata is a piece of cloth used by women in my religion, to cover their head, which younger generation is gladly skipping these days.
- While I love my father for standing by all his kids in the time of need, he hasn’t been the father or husband of the year all along.
- I come from a large family, where my younger aunts(dad’s sisters), 4 of them, spent about 10 or more years with us till they got married, finally!
- My mother lost her mom when she was 2 and life hasn’t been very kind to her after that.
- Getting physically beaten, is sadly very common phenomena in my part of the world, to the extent, being slapped is considered a mere expression of affection, the other person holds for the victim. Kids are beaten by parents and wives by husbands, and as much as I hate to admit it, picture isn’t pretty even today.
Now, coming back to the first memory, “the very first thing I remember from my child hood is pulling my mother’s duppatta off of my aunts head, as she used to consider wearing my mom’s best of cloths her birth right, and I hated that from the start. I remember kicking her, hitting her, putting the best fight a young one can put to get her to give the piece of cloth up. I remember screaming at her to never to touch it again.”, My mom thinks that time, i was around 2.
Thinking of Dianne’s article, I realized how much my first memory reflected my whole life. I have been a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, a Manager, a Subordinate and much more, but the only thing I have done with all of my heart and strength is, to protect my mother.
Don’t get me wrong my mom is the strongest person I have ever met, but she seems to have immense tolerance for the people she loves and no one can save her from her self-chosen hell. Ever since I was a kid, I used to tell her that I am actually her long-lost mother, who is here to take care of her.
I haven’t always been courageous in life, but I am glad when it came to protecting my mother, I never felt afraid.
I remember telling my dad to never hit my mother again and getting beaten up instead at 10.
I remember buying her treats from any penny I could save and later when I started earning, I loved buying presents for her for no reason at all.
I can never forget the day my otherwise shy mom told me about her health and how I dragged her to the doctor, knowing something was very wrong.
I am glad I was able to nurse her back to health from being taken down by that scary uterine cancer , and now she feels quite strong.
I have never cried in front of my mother, for I know how much my being strong means to her. I might fail at a thousand things, but my only wish is to never fail my mom.