It's a few days after her birthday, but here's me 'Chatting with mom'.
Chatting with mom
I am in my car a lot these days: driving to and from work, running errands, chauffeuring kids, meeting friends, taking idle drives, and sometimes, just sitting quietly, soaking up the rationed warmth of the Cleveland sun, waiting for some person/job/gadget to respond before hitting the pedal again. The list of To-Dos seems endless mom, and some days are just too long.
I must admit, I never thought I’d take a liking to driving. Of all the things I considered utterly unenjoyable, driving was at the top year after year. I enjoyed riding in the passenger seat as you may well recall, but never driving. Lately though, it’s been different. My mind is at ease when I am in the driver’s seat; my grip on the wheel loosens a little, my lips break into a smile, and thoughts of all manner cross my mind. I discard many, reflect on some, and seek answers to a few. You can’t imagine how many questions there are that I do not know answers to, and it doesn’t bother me at all anymore that I don’t. I can count on my one hand all the questions I care about, and on myself for knowing not to dwell inordinately on inquiry. I just depend on honest pursuit instead - a task at a time, all in, just like you had taught me.
Would you think me naïve if I shared what’s on my mind today? On the radio, in the magazines, and yes quite the copious overdose on social media, I hear one thing over and over again. I hear that I need to stop looking in the rearview mirror, and that looking forward is the only way to stay ahead, thrive - the only mantra worth registering - that I must unhesitatingly let go of the past and usher in the new, that change is the only constant, and that my lukewarm reception of the new normal is sure to get me in trouble with no kosher recourse to follow. “You’ve got to be tough”, I am told by well-meaning folks, to weather the unseasonal blows these years after 40 deal, and surely, I must at all costs exercise restraint when it comes to taking my eyes off the windshield. Am I altogether astray for believing differently, mom? Isn’t taking the time to look back occasionally akin to honoring my legacy or giving myself a break from the strain of keeping my eyes on the tar? Like reading from a timeless book of consummate experience, a page at a time, pausing to relive, relish, and review? Isn’t that what has kept me (and countless others through time) grounded because I knew where I had been and how, and with that awareness, better equipped to carve the path to where I want go? Is it not true anymore?
I wonder why I never paid much attention to the rearview in the past, but now, I am expressly curious. Could it be because of where I am in my life today? At peace with what is, yet feeling overcome by the energy that mighty cymbals of joy and challenge produce when they clang? Focused, yet feeling lost in the aura that my passionate pursuits create? Foolishly hungry, yet not unhesitatingly dauntless?
But you see, It’s not something I can resist - When I look in the rearview mirror, mom, I see familiar images - not of loss, disappointment, failure, or anger, but of life’s challenges and its bountiful rewards, gifts of family and friends, burnished mile markers of trial and sacrifice, finish lines of sincere endeavor and stumble-ridden learning, and more often than these, I see your precious face - your gorgeous eyes, your tender manner, your unrelenting passion to do good, and your uncanny ability to not let the urgent drown out the important – all the things that made you you; Oh! How I wish you were around and I could show off your reassuring smile to my friends so they would believe me when I say that it needed no aide when it came to wiping clean the peevish burden of a weary day. I am working on getting myself some of that disarming charm, but you are so inimitable…I envy you. :)
Here’s something funny. Last week, I had this whole story unfold as though in front of my very eyes. It was a long day at work. A night where 7 p.m. in the parking lot felt like night had given up all contemplation of day. It was pitch-dark. I walked up to my car, tired and hungry. I plugged my phone into the charger as I pulled back and there you were! Slicing onions and green tomatoes into even-sized chunks, and tossing them into an emulsion of spices with just the right amount of salt, green chillies, and sesame powder, casually garnishing the casserole with handful of washed sprigs of cilantro - stalk, leaf, and flower, unchopped, like you always did. I guessed I was hungry but that wasn’t all. While busily working the ladle and loading up the pressure cooker, you managed to dispense with a mild lecture on the wisdom that lay in picking my battles with surgical precision where my almost-adult teenager was concerned, and topped the cautionary tale with “Your 13-year old isn’t that far behind, you know.” I couldn’t stay distracted by the aroma of frying green tomatoes for too long, and quickly summoned myself back to the conversation. If you had a reason in mind for this particular avatar, I am not aware of it, but when you are around, there’s one of two things in the mix: a blessing or a lesson. This one, I have decided to count as the latter.
It’s just one of your many avatars, I know. Flashes of you, avatars I hadn’t seen in your 60 years of living, like the clown you were at your granddaughter’s 6th birthday, are outright entertaining while the real ones like educator, nurse, lawyer, social worker, chairman of the board, committed wife, and awesome mother are simply passion-forward. Your raw authenticity is so rare, so effulgent. You were never a rulebook thumper, mom, and I loved that about you. You lived by example, the only way you knew how. When you asked us to believe that loves cures all or that we must be truthful no matter what, we knew from your tranquil eyes that they had seen the magic work. When you took challenges in stride and remarked that problems were part of the curriculum, your planted feet and piercing glare assured us that you had in your day cut the onslaught in half before it ever began. When you asked us to aim high, I knew you had had your hands outstretched already to keep us from falling to the ground.
Whatever the avatar, what I most adore about you mom, when I am not in awe of being around you that is, is your ability to find and make a human connection even with a bystander, where none existed. Did I tell you that I hear and see you outside of the driver’s seat too? This time around, I am looking in the mirror. I may never be a fraction of the person you were, but I am fully attentive and ready for this conversation to continue so I many never stop aspiring!
The New Year is upon us once again and I have been thinking of you all day.
Reminiscing how we celebrated you and our time together over two days leading up to Jan 1st each year. How we would shop for a new saree or a small piece of jewelry for you, and how after going to the temple, dine at the finest restaurant our budget could afford.
I need you more than I have needed you before, and I now know why I love looking in that rearview mirror…If it wasn’t for the handless hold that you so masterfully wield over me to this day, I wonder where I would have been. Thank you!
Happy 77th, mom. :)
Love you.
