September blues!

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.” 

― Anaïs Nin

Something odd happens around this time every year. If I am not in good spirits and feeling low, I instantly get rejuvenated and a new energy engulfs me. If I am already doing good, then, I become more focussed in whatever task I am accomplishing at that moment. Somehow, September has always been a month of anxiety. And, that oddball song "Wake me up when September ends" finds more relevance each passing year.

My mother has been unwell since a week. This is the first time I've ever seen her so weak and sick. Her two older sisters have also been battling health problems, and I only hope she isn't taking too much stress about their health. Her preferences for others' well-being has always made her worry a tad too much than she should. At times, I recall how she never had any vacation or a social life because she was so busy raising two daughters. Her love for poetry was discovered quite accidentally by me, when she recited a favourite poem of hers while teaching me to cook one day. I never realised how intelligent and sensitive my mother is, for a long time, not until I graduated from college. In my final year of college, I began reading a lot of material on Gender Studies and Feminism, and it made me realise I belong to that generation who have ignored their mothers while reaching new summits in their own academic/professional lives. And, since then my approach towards understanding my mother has completely changed forever. I have felt more grounded and compassionate towards life, more than I ever did after mingling with the world. Her belief and faith in me has made me so much more stronger and confident while venturing out, after the safe cocoon of college and home.
After reading Betty Smith's 1943 novel, A Tree grows in Brooklyn, I became much more aware about a mother's sacrifices and her entire life's worth that's always measured by her childrens' successes and her family's happiness. As a woman, it was my first education in understanding this life and a woman's in its true essence.

She also taught me a lot of things I did not feel much confident about- she's been so gentle in vocalising her concern about my excessive reading habits. She's secretly proud, I know, yet often reprimands me when I start reading irrespective of the time or moment of day, when I should be attending to more important chores. But her love is so evident by the fact that she never tells me to stop reading, in any case. There are so many things right from my childhood when my mother and me lived alone, while Dad was posted away. It must have been such a tough time for her, to be in new cities, without any help or support to lean on, with a school-going kid. Yet, we had a great time. She allowed me evenings in parks, and television and play-time with friends. I know, this may seem very regular like all other children, but the difference was that she taught me to mingle on my own; to take decisions; to be able to trust people based on meeting them.. It was a beautiful childhood with my mother while Dad visited us on weekends. So many memories, and such awakening. Hope she gets well soon, and remains in good health. She's my vital force. Love you Mom.