Hello dearest Reader,
Hope the fall this year is treating you well. The year slowly inching towards its end as the autumn leaves cover the earth in golden hues do evoke nostalgia and reminds us of the months that’s passed by. This letter dear Reader is very much for you as I love the connection we have managed to build over time, but I hope some day my son reads this letter too. He probably will look back fondly on what we had build together since he breathed his first.
My tryst with the mountains of Sikkim is a yearly phenomenon. I go there to find myself and spend time sitting quietly away from the bustling city life . Syncing with my roots and calming my soul. This time too, I planned my trip but my 17 year old boy decided to accompany me. Bengali moms are always tagged to be overtly possessive and very protective of their sons. At times interfering, commanding attention and emotionally blackmailing to get their boys to do exactly what they want. The saying goes that they land up mostly doing everything under the sun for their sons and stranding them in boyhood for the rest of their lives. Basically the Bengali boys are by far the quintessential Mamma’s boys of in India’s socio cultural history. They struggle very hard to own up to their independent adulthood as they grow up. Though I admit there are a few aberrations. I on the other hand always fell short of doing honours to my role of “ Bangali Ma” for that matter fell short of being a Ma as tradition would demand.
The story goes like this, that my baby boy was born way before his mother was born. And as late blooming mother I had learning disabilities. I never understood why my baby boy was behaving like a baby. And if at all I did…then it was the raucous child in me who treated him like an equal and played along with equal gusto. Never letting him win a pillow fight or a bout of “kusti “ (wrestling) to his frustration and anger. He was always a friend and a peer and to his unvoiced irritation he treated me as his competition and a comrade.
I was always on a rush to make him self reliant and teach him to do things independently. I had my reasons. In my head I was racing against time and had to do everything possible to ensure that he can fend himself and learn not to need a mom and as soon as possible. In the quest of achieving my goal, I went full throttle downloading life lessons and ensuring that I alienated him enough that he can survive without me as he traversed his babyhood.
But this letter is not about the separate paths we could have walked but about the bridge I started to build post my medical crisis. This is the story of how we can manifest what we want.
The roads we choose for ourselves are the ones where we should plant beautiful flowers. And since 2021, I decided that I have to re-define my relationship with my boy. I couldn’t turn back time and reverse what we both had as memories, but we can try and reshape our journey ahead. I knew that mollycoddling is something which I can never get myself to do. But I wanted to have a common ground where we both were comfortable with each other. I taught myself to listen to him. As my boy navigated his teens, I became the ears who would listen to his stories, his anxieties, his ambitions and fears. His loneliness his social awkwardness, his stress for his boards, came tumbling out. And as he walked his life story, I taught myself to be non-judgmental, but not nonchalant, taught myself to allow him space, but guide him with gentle firmness. I made him realise that he is precious to me but he is strong enough to sail his own ship with winds on its sail. As he went through adolescence, I traversed the teenage years of motherhood.
Our journey was shrouded with misty uncertainty but both the boy & his mother walked slow but steady. And oh boy how much I learned from this growing intelligence! That by far was the most beautiful part of our journey. He thought he was learning from me and openly asked about questions on managing stress and disappointments, of living life with joie de vivre even when chips are down. I shared what my life had taught me. But I was simultaneously soaking in his thoughts on stoicism, his philosophies of life, his creative energy and his calm. I was learning to have a smile even when going was tough and pushing through when spirits were down. His quiet strength amazed me. I was also awestruck to realise how well read he was. His stories entertained me over our morning chai. He provided me with night time stories that evoked deep thoughts about our planet and human progression. I realised that we are both soaking from each other….he - my life experiences and I - the his dreams of a future. This journey to the mountains cemented the bridge I started building and so mighty glad I am about it.
I know his journey will take him to far away lands, to dreams bigger than I can imagine, to adventures more extraordinary than the Arabian Nights, but I’m at peace as I know he will always find his bridge to get back to his Mamma when he needs a hot cup of coffee and a good chat. At times you come across souls who teaches you life lessons and then becomes a part of your journey. My boy probably is one of those souls.
In Hindu philosophy it says, that a soul chooses the womb where it wants to take form before stepping into the world. And I’m so blessed that he chose me. I remotely don’t believe any other soul had the capacity to turn a quirk of nature like me, to something which resembles motherhood and then make me fall in love with the role. Albeit I’m slow but I did get a hang of things, my way. I had a very patient 17 year old teacher.
As we walked the folds of the mountains through the lush greenery, we both savoured a newfound spiritual kinship. We touched the hem of calm as we trekked to the hill top monastery, we enjoyed the chirping of the cicadas as we listened to the sky, we indulged in organic farm food from my friend’s farm stay and lulled ourselves in hot stone bath ‘Menchu’. When two people can enjoy each other’s company in silence, that probably is the best of all relationships. We both could cross the bridge and reach that place.
So my dearest reader, if you have children then ensure you have the bridge which both of you can use to reach each other. And if not , then still have your bridge to reach the next generation of youths. The journey will be enriching, I can promise you that. Have an open and compassionate heart, inquisitive mind and patience. A whole new world will open its gates to you. I will leave you here dearest Reader, till we meet again with another story. Go wrap up the autumn cosiness with your loved ones as I reminisce the visit to mountains and the Himalayan bridge which connects.
Always yours
Pocket full of life
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