Sudden squall. Rolling thunder in dark restless skies. Lashing rain and occasional hailstones rattling on the windowpanes and sunshades since early morn.
The ions of the atmosphere rattling the ions of my being.
Snapshots of the years gone by filling the spaces between the ions , a tumultuous onslaught of memories long forgotten.
8th March. International Women's Day. Spent the morning in bed, with hot cups of tea, Facebooking, blogging posts about my idea of a complete woman. And then began the memories!
Cut to childhood.. A Shadowy mom. Here, there, everywhere. Through diving in the middle of dark nights, on the call of sirens , into makeshift trenches dug behind tall hedges in our garden. In mom's arms. Safe.
Indo-China then Indo-Pak Wars. Dad not seen. We are told he is at the 'Front". Battling the shelling and firing. Mom awake through the night. Listening to live coverage on radio. I distinctly remember the term "Sialcot Sector". Visions of soldiers on hospital beds, in corridors of the Military Hospital. .injured, bleeding, whimpering in agony. But I am strangely unafraid. My hand is clasped tightly in my mother's hand. I know that she is there. As our strength. And that she will never allow anything bad to happen to papa or us.
My grandfather on a bus from Dehradun. On his way to Moga for some paper work. Forgotten papers at home.
Memory: Mom on a Lambretta scooter with maasi riding pillion and me standing in front. An exciting drive with my ponytails flying in the breeze all the way down the hairpin bends and curves of Mohand. Until we flag down a bus. Hand over the papers to my nana. And stop for a picnic on the way back home.
Memory: A small sister. And I have high fever. Dad missing again. Posted to a field area. Time -probably beyond midnight. Mom desperate. Loads me and baby sister on a motorbike (I think) and gets us to the hospital. Memories on being inserted into an ice water tub to lower the fever (that's how primitive the times were!)
Memory: A sudden visitor at Jhansi. Dad at war. Dusk falling. Mom borrows a cycle, puts sis in basket and me hanging precariously on seat at back. Cycle to local market to buy gifts for the visitor's children.
Mom. Vinnie Dev. A strong lady. With oodles of courage and determination. Taught me those, and decorum. And to be a lady. And to rule. And to love. And compassion. And to always always lend a helping hand to everyone who needed one. And charity.
Isn't this what Women's Day should celebrate?
People later in my life, after marriage- telling me "Ye ladkiyon ka kaam nahin hota. Ye ladkiyaan nahin kartein" ..To assorted acts like all-my-mom-used-to-do and polishing-washing cars, bikes, etc. I remember my disbelief at the thought!!
Memory: My cousin brother Sateesh Dev. Stayed with us at Bombay. used to be working at Mazagon Docks as a marine architect. Design ships. Made him oh-so interesting to my girl friends:-) He bought a motorbike. Would make me polish it down to every spoke in the wheels for extra pocket money / a secret ride with a boyfriend down Marine Drive while he walked our dog incessantly so my dad wouldn't know.
My sis and I were always encouraged to take part in the running of the home. Be tough and independent. Learn to fend for ourselves. I remember my mom handing me all of dad's salary one month while we were posted at Srinagar, Kashmir , to run the house as she did-- because I once questioned her as to how "so much money" got finished !And her amusement at "all that money" being over and done with on the 10th of the month:-)
Being a woman has so many facets. Far more than being a man. Fighting conformism to begin with. Fighting to stay ahead. Making a place within family. Leading, not following. Bringing up children to be the same.
I owe so much to my parents. To my dad's unending pride in me. More to my mom. A whole lot to my husband, Rajiv.
And it's yesterday Once More. Strengthening all my tomorrows.
I can say today- with pride and with my head held high.
Happy Women's day to Me.
Happy Women's day to my mother.
Happy Women's day to my daughters Aanchal and Shalu.
And Happy Women's Day to every woman who stands tall.
And to every man who is proud of such women. You- Rajiv Tyagi. My son - Saahil. And you- Gourav Sharma.
The ions of the atmosphere rattling the ions of my being.
Snapshots of the years gone by filling the spaces between the ions , a tumultuous onslaught of memories long forgotten.
8th March. International Women's Day. Spent the morning in bed, with hot cups of tea, Facebooking, blogging posts about my idea of a complete woman. And then began the memories!
Cut to childhood.. A Shadowy mom. Here, there, everywhere. Through diving in the middle of dark nights, on the call of sirens , into makeshift trenches dug behind tall hedges in our garden. In mom's arms. Safe.
Indo-China then Indo-Pak Wars. Dad not seen. We are told he is at the 'Front". Battling the shelling and firing. Mom awake through the night. Listening to live coverage on radio. I distinctly remember the term "Sialcot Sector". Visions of soldiers on hospital beds, in corridors of the Military Hospital. .injured, bleeding, whimpering in agony. But I am strangely unafraid. My hand is clasped tightly in my mother's hand. I know that she is there. As our strength. And that she will never allow anything bad to happen to papa or us.
My grandfather on a bus from Dehradun. On his way to Moga for some paper work. Forgotten papers at home.
Memory: Mom on a Lambretta scooter with maasi riding pillion and me standing in front. An exciting drive with my ponytails flying in the breeze all the way down the hairpin bends and curves of Mohand. Until we flag down a bus. Hand over the papers to my nana. And stop for a picnic on the way back home.
Memory: A small sister. And I have high fever. Dad missing again. Posted to a field area. Time -probably beyond midnight. Mom desperate. Loads me and baby sister on a motorbike (I think) and gets us to the hospital. Memories on being inserted into an ice water tub to lower the fever (that's how primitive the times were!)
Memory: A sudden visitor at Jhansi. Dad at war. Dusk falling. Mom borrows a cycle, puts sis in basket and me hanging precariously on seat at back. Cycle to local market to buy gifts for the visitor's children.
Mom. Vinnie Dev. A strong lady. With oodles of courage and determination. Taught me those, and decorum. And to be a lady. And to rule. And to love. And compassion. And to always always lend a helping hand to everyone who needed one. And charity.
Isn't this what Women's Day should celebrate?
People later in my life, after marriage- telling me "Ye ladkiyon ka kaam nahin hota. Ye ladkiyaan nahin kartein" ..To assorted acts like all-my-mom-used-to-do and polishing-washing cars, bikes, etc. I remember my disbelief at the thought!!
Memory: My cousin brother Sateesh Dev. Stayed with us at Bombay. used to be working at Mazagon Docks as a marine architect. Design ships. Made him oh-so interesting to my girl friends:-) He bought a motorbike. Would make me polish it down to every spoke in the wheels for extra pocket money / a secret ride with a boyfriend down Marine Drive while he walked our dog incessantly so my dad wouldn't know.
My sis and I were always encouraged to take part in the running of the home. Be tough and independent. Learn to fend for ourselves. I remember my mom handing me all of dad's salary one month while we were posted at Srinagar, Kashmir , to run the house as she did-- because I once questioned her as to how "so much money" got finished !And her amusement at "all that money" being over and done with on the 10th of the month:-)
Being a woman has so many facets. Far more than being a man. Fighting conformism to begin with. Fighting to stay ahead. Making a place within family. Leading, not following. Bringing up children to be the same.
I owe so much to my parents. To my dad's unending pride in me. More to my mom. A whole lot to my husband, Rajiv.
And it's yesterday Once More. Strengthening all my tomorrows.
I can say today- with pride and with my head held high.
Happy Women's day to Me.
Happy Women's day to my mother.
Happy Women's day to my daughters Aanchal and Shalu.
And Happy Women's Day to every woman who stands tall.
And to every man who is proud of such women. You- Rajiv Tyagi. My son - Saahil. And you- Gourav Sharma.
Wow ...Seema beautifully expressed and more so because I share some of the memories, the trenches and dads missing and mom always by our side .The MH story with my brother and later with Arjun me being alone while Lalith was away on an exercise , the Lambretta and mom taking us pillions and so many more .Would love to sit n chat up and share with you .Keep writing and thanks for sharing , really really took me down the memory lane .
ReplyDeleteHugsss n A happy womens day .
Wow ...beautifully expressed and more so because I can relate to so many of tgem , the trenches , dads being away and mom always so reassuring and confident , the MH story with my brother and later even with Arjun in Binaguri when Lalith was away on an exercise and I was alone , the Lambretta scooter.....amazing ...So want to sit and share these memories with you some day .Thanks for sharing and Do keep writing .Hugs and A happy womens day again .
ReplyDeleteVery ell written, Seema!!! Nothing like a stormy day to bring back memories. It is overcast and windy in Miami. I am doing the same. Happy Women's Day.
ReplyDeleteThank you :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you :-)
ReplyDelete