Month: August 2009

 

“I have started a blog, to upload my write-ups. From now on, everyone can read them from internet, if they like to.”

“That’s nice. So these people, who read your blog, will they know that its you, who is the writer, right? ”

“Yes, of course! I have given an introduction on the front itself, and my name.”

“OK. That’s good.”

“And… I’m using a pen-name. Husna Khadeeja Basheer.”

“Oh… Hmmm… Why did you take out your surname Pudussery…? Its your family root… And its the name of our home too… And its not in custom, to use mother’s name in children’s…”

“Hmm… I know… But I like to use this, as my pen-name. This sounds cool !! hehehe ”

“OK… Still… Anyway, its your call.”

“Yup. Its 10 o’clock there now right… you should prepare yourself to sleep.”

“Yes. Or I will lose whole night’s sleep if I got late to bed! Assalamu alaikum.”

“Wa alaikumussalam.”

—————-

“This sounds cool” ?? Is that my explanation to why I used my mother’s first name as my middle name?? Come on! Cool??

I am thinking of her. What she will be doing now. She must be praying and after that she shall slide inside her fresh crisp cotton blanket and try sleep. I have always noticed, she shuts her eyes very tightly than usual, every time she tries to sleep. I used to find it odd, till I found out that I do the same thing. But when she does it now, when I saw her couple of months ago from India, I could see new wrinkles around her eyes… And her once deep black eyes, faded into a gray hue. Her soft feminine voice turning fragile and sometimes a little frail. And the jet black color that youth had painted her naturally once, lighter… whiter… Here and there.

After all, she is aging. Everyone is aging. But when I start seeing visible differences in her… A strange fear is growing inside me. A fear that makes me sometimes lost. I’m getting scared, one day, I will lose my one big link with this world. I’m scared, when years are passing by, the chance for missing it is coming closer…..

She no longer puts henna on her hair religiously. She says she is lazy and don’t care much. But I think, she is actually a little concerned about the judgments of the society around her, who thinks, a widow need not have to take care of her looks that much. But she is not just, only a widow. She is also a mother. She is my mother. My beautiful mother. And I want her to take care of herself. At least for me. At least to make me believe that she is still young. I know I’m trying to convince myself that she is the same healthy robust person, whose saree hem I used to hang on when she cooked. And I would wrap a shawl around my dress, as if I’m also wearing a saree and I would carry my doll, Wendy, on my hands as if its my baby sister. This is a picture which has become a sixteen year old memory now. Still I’m trying to cling to it. But sixteen years… It has changed her a lot. It has changed me a lot. But I’m used to the changes in me. Not hers.

Still all those years has failed to change some things. The unconditional affection in her eyes whenever she looks at me. The prompt forgiveness again and again for the ungratefulness that I shows to her time to time, because of my selfish and stubborn nature. The innumerous number of deep heart prayers that she always does, for my happiness.

I remember, on my 22nd birthday, she wrote me a card. “I wish you were still the one year old. I could have sung you lullabies and make you sleep”. She wrote it from India and I read it from England. Maybe she also wishes the time stood still so that she could cuddle me anytime she wants to. Not reminiscing over those beautiful days. Not becoming sad thinking of the thousands of miles between us. The difference of time zone between us. The extremely distinct climates between us.

Now I’m sitting here in UK, in front of a computer typing all these things from my thoughts. I wish I could tell her more than just the word ‘Cool’.

—————-

She once told me she has one wish. To see me as a mother. I don’t know. She is a mother. And I’m sure she is now a mother first. Her utmost priority is her children. If she had to choose between her parents, her husband and her children, she would undoubtedly choose her children. Us. Me and my elder brothers. And if I became a mother, I know I will choose my children before her. And I’m not yet ready to give her up now to second position. I know it might sound silly and juvenile. I know life doesn’t work like that. But ruthless realities can’t convince me enough for the time being. I want her to be my top priority. For now at least. For some more time at least.

—————-

Mother… You made him my father. Through you, I came to know him. You are the unbreakable link between us. Pudussery is of course, my family root. And our home. But you made it my root. You made our house, a home. So without you, my name is incomplete. I’m incomplete. So there it is. My level best explanation… Hope this is a tad better than ‘cool’…

—————-

Its 10.15 in India now. Now let me go and call her and tell this. Before she shuts her eyes tightly to sleep.

—————–

Her phone is ringing…

—————–

 

So, the other day, some teenagers tried really hard to scare me off with their bullying. There were like three boys and six girls . All around 13-14 years of age. I was sitting alone in the playground, just half a mile from my house, and they told me they wanted to be friends with me. For me, they are just beautiful lively kids in their golden age. And to be honest, I didn’t see this ‘bullying’ coming. But after a few minutes of friendly talk, they became too ‘friendly’ and started joking with bad languages which I can’t even say loudly. To my own surprise, I sat there least bit bothered, reading my book. Coz again, for me they are just kids who were trying to be ‘grown-ups’.

What I still don’t understand is, why do teenagers think, using a lot of F-Word or far worse words make them adults. Or is it my so-called ‘generation gap’ with them, making me forward this question? Atleast, I don’t think so. Even if, swearing does make us adults, why this sudden urge to lose the beautiful era of life? You are gonna grow up and be an adult one day, anyway, so why so much rush to conquer it? Coz once, you enter those pages of calendars, there is seldom a comeback, ain’t it?

Teenage years are the most wonderful time of a person’s life, for its full of fresh energy, innocence, eagerness, constant curiosity and fascination for new episodes. Teenage is not just a part of life, its much much larger than life; Short and sweet, filled with all the distinct, special and unique experiences, that a person will have in his/her own lifetime.

A teenager is happiest, when he/she is with friends and they will literally die for their friends, and thats their fearless commitment. A teenager will fall in love so blindly that he/she will never forget those small crushes they had, rest of their lives. A teenager will be so rebellious to others, that during these years do they know their real strength to stand up for themselves, against many obstacles, good or bad. But a teenager is still the most innocent, who will get upset when parents just ‘sermon’ them, or when a favourite rockstar demises or is grounded for going to a party too late. Those innocent emotions will eventually be lost through time, when they hit the other side of the curve towards adulthood. So why can’t teenagers simply be just those innocent kids, who will share their homework, gift her favourite earrings to her friend, help his best bud get ready for his date and laugh at the silly jokes only their friends circle will understand?

I might never get answers to these questions, but I try to pacify myself thinking that, atleast I enjoyed the best years of my life with all its superlatives. Now when I look back, I can only smile and be happy. And I’m proud and grateful that my friends and cousins who were there for me, and still are, for even the silly stuffs at which I used to get worried, are the best gifts I got during this glorious time.

I just wish, all teens have their time, never seized away from them, by themselves. I just wish all teens have those beautiful not-still-lost baby smiles on their faces. I just wish all teens remain as teens and welcome and enjoy their ever so fantabulous years in its twenty-four carat authenticity.

P.S : Dedicating this write-up to my most wonderful cousins sisters, Febin and Aysha. Teeanage wouldn’t be the same without you two.. I wouldn’t be the same without you two.. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then they lived happily ever after…

The handsome prince and the beautiful princess…

They knew they were meant to be together, the first time they met…

He could just live, looking at her eyes forever…

She was rescued from the evil stepmother and stepsisters…

The ‘eternal’ love stories of the good-looking couples go on like this. Fairytales and even the 21st century movie lines decide to stick with the inter-connected triangle between love, good looks and an evil in between. What if the girl was not that pretty? Will the boy fall in love at first sight? Or will he be able to look through, for the substance contained? If the boy is handsome, will he automatically fit the bill to be a good partner? What if there are no evil aunts or witches or dragons involved and the girl need not to be rescued from anything? What if she can look after herself and doesn’t need any kind of ‘help’ from a second person? How can the boy make the grand entrance without proving his physical strength? How do they know that he or she is The one? Will they hear bells ringing or violins playing?

Almost all the stories that we hear from childhood, put some fancy dress over infatuation or crush and call it ‘love’. At first sight, love, as in between two persons which has a potential for sharing lives, is hardly ever going to happen. Because love comes from companionship, from knowing each other, from acceptance, from seeing the goodness, from the willingness to let go the flaws, from the ability to see even through darkness. It doesn’t come from eyes, or lips or anything of that matter. If its like that, its mere attraction which can happen anywhere anytime to anyone. When the L word is misused or if defined better, ‘incorrectly used’, it becomes synthetic and a cheesy line. If genuine, love will stand the test of time, patience and misfortunes. But then again, its never always about love,as it is not enough. There are hundreds of other emotions. This single emotion doesn’t make anyone complete, but just makes our journey more beautiful.’Giving hearts’ and ‘living only for someone’ are soothing to hear of course, but partially hype and overrated. Even, some of my own scribbles, are exaggerations about love and sacrifices and all. Sometimes, even my thoughts do deviate to lesser practical concepts on these kind of emotional needs. In reality, expecting someone to be there for you as if he or she can’t live without you, can be a very narcissistic way of thinking. But to accept that these are all parts of life, might be the reality to be realised for our own good.

But whatever it is, I don’t know whether this is hypocritic, I still believe in fairytales… Because I believe in happy endings. For that is a beautiful thing in life to be hoped for always.