That strange and strong thing

Before she passed on, Ma had been in the hospital a few times before. Once especially she had fallen really ill. I was in Bangalore at the time. But my brother texted me to come back soon because Mom didn't look good. I always thought that my brother anyway gets upset about every small thing so I waited for my father's message. That month I had planned to go to Benares with a friend. My father didn't call. So I called him. My father told me that if possible, could I cancel my trip and come down to Bombay instead? 

Of course I could and I did.

My brother was very distraught. My father was soldiering on. I was not very worried but all the nervousness of the hospital got to me. Like everyone else, I would visit my mum in the ICU. Mostly to sit by her side as she lay asleep. 

I would hum this hymn (my absolute favorite from school), 'I surrender all' -  (https://youtu.be/7x2IpLSfqp8). Mom would sometimes tighten her grip as I hummed.

Sometimes she would wake up and smile. Her smile always felt like the dawn of a Friday - as if all happy, exciting things would occur that day! Even her faintest smile was the stuff hope was made of. But one day when she smiled, her eyes looked empty. That day I felt like I had lost mom. This lady, fragile and dainty, was a very close replica. But she wasn't my mom. 

I texted a friend to tell her that I think we are losing mummy. She texted back saying that I should have some faith. That just because we don't see an outcome we want doesn't mean that it's not good for everyone concerned. 

Over the next few days, my mother's situation had gotten worse. The next time I had to go inside the ICU, I stayed at the entrance for a little while. I could see mummy by the window. She was sleeping like a little bird in a nest. There was a lot of peace around her. So much peace and lightness. That time when I saw Mummy, I spoke to her in my mind. For the very first time, I completely accepted that situation with a lot of calmness. I told Ma that if it's all too much for you, you go. We won't hold you back. Love you so much and goodbye. 

That night my mother recovered. In the next couple of days, Ma was home.

I remember this very clearly because it was one of the latest pearls in a string of several events that had connected me to an everyday, ordinary but superlative divinity. My Mom literally was my most closest cord to whatever soft-centered love that the Universe holds. 

I think of that often, especially now. I think after you lose a parent, there is an upbringing you have to give to yourself. I feel I should go back to those few minutes outside the ICU when I stood and surrendered completely. Not the kind of surrender that you do with one eye on the scoreboard to check whether you've won Life's game. The surrender that comes with faith...a luscious, oceanic faith that if it has come to pass, it has come from love.

I intend to develop this systematically now. The way I learned Biology in school or driving in Delhi. Set up a timetable, follow the schedule, and show up for class every single day. 

For starters, I got a 2 volume set of Gita by Paramhansa Yogananda (since Autobiography of a Yogi is one of my favorite books. I love the lucidity of his writing.) I intend to read a few pages of it every day and write my own personal prayer in my shiny yellow book. 

The more I meet people, observe my own life and thoughts, and see life go on, the more I feel that there's a need to build the capacity for faith. The illusion of control just dehydrates the beauty of a simple day, a simple conversation, a simple friendship. It just knots and chews out love. 

And from such unfettered faith, there will come a slow and strong surrender. 

Then, maybe all this living, loving, hurting, and recovering would have been worth it.