I had an accident a week ago. A hot water bottle burst on me and I got 2nd degree burns on my leg and stomach. While this experience was new, unwanted and unexpected, it left a bucket of learning for me. I was/still am at my lowest. No amount of conversations, counseling and care for self helped in lifting my spirits up. I felt lifeless and joyless and lonely. Because I was physically restrained and unable to go to work, move around, in bare terms, I was room arrested for a week, I compensated by making my mind run. Did it serve me well? I don't know.
I thought, I over thought and thought some more. Amidst all of them, there was one particular chain of thought that disturbed me, shook me, made me weep.
My Nani was this adorable, soft spoken, religious lady who left parts of herself in each one of the members of my family. She physically suffered a lot during this lifetime of hers. Having rheumatoid arthritis for over 35 years of her life, she had restricted physical mobility. From arms to legs to most of her body, we helplessly saw her getting deteriorated and it tore each one of us to see her going through this pain. As a child, I saw her doing just some of the tasks with little difficulty. But in spite of her physical condition, my childhood was filled with pinnis, paath and pyaar, all my Nani special. As I grew up, I learnt how her body had more limitations now. Some and more of the tasks were taken up by others in the house. Nevertheless, if there were less of pinnis from her, there was more time she would sit in that corner of the house and do paath. Relentlessly. As I grew up, she grew old. My achievements meant more of data points than a fully understood story that she would have remembered. The last couple of years before she passed on to a higher life were immensely difficult for her. From turning around in her bed to going to the washroom, she needed help for most of the things now. Each of her children and grandchildren patiently helped her with chores big or small. But irrespective of how tough the night would have been, she still spoke to me every morning, blessing me and wishing me a good day ahead. No matter how difficult walking even 4 steps were, she would still join us at the lunch and dinner table every day. Filling my memories with her presence, in her own way.
I love her and miss her just like my favourite toy from childhood. So close in my memory yet so far. Today, when I am in this utter pain, I take each step with difficulty and crib, I think of her.
How did her self-talk look like with all that pain? How did she find courage from within to carry out normal tasks of the day? How did she still continue to do paath and have so much faith in Akaal Purakh?
I thought I was an empathetic human. I thought I fairly understood how human mind functioned. Then how did I just focus on her physical pain? Was I even empathizing all along?
As I continued to feel sad, sorry, helpless, I couldn't help but appreciate the fact of how she was such a strong woman who not only fought a long physical battle but an even arduous mental one. I wonder how inside of her mind looked. And I believe, if I can tell myself even an iota of positive things she would have told herself, I will sail through this physical pain of mine.
She indeed left parts of herself in each of us. It's just a matter of time until we discover them. And once we do, there is no turning back. There is just before and after.
I thought, I over thought and thought some more. Amidst all of them, there was one particular chain of thought that disturbed me, shook me, made me weep.
My Nani was this adorable, soft spoken, religious lady who left parts of herself in each one of the members of my family. She physically suffered a lot during this lifetime of hers. Having rheumatoid arthritis for over 35 years of her life, she had restricted physical mobility. From arms to legs to most of her body, we helplessly saw her getting deteriorated and it tore each one of us to see her going through this pain. As a child, I saw her doing just some of the tasks with little difficulty. But in spite of her physical condition, my childhood was filled with pinnis, paath and pyaar, all my Nani special. As I grew up, I learnt how her body had more limitations now. Some and more of the tasks were taken up by others in the house. Nevertheless, if there were less of pinnis from her, there was more time she would sit in that corner of the house and do paath. Relentlessly. As I grew up, she grew old. My achievements meant more of data points than a fully understood story that she would have remembered. The last couple of years before she passed on to a higher life were immensely difficult for her. From turning around in her bed to going to the washroom, she needed help for most of the things now. Each of her children and grandchildren patiently helped her with chores big or small. But irrespective of how tough the night would have been, she still spoke to me every morning, blessing me and wishing me a good day ahead. No matter how difficult walking even 4 steps were, she would still join us at the lunch and dinner table every day. Filling my memories with her presence, in her own way.
I love her and miss her just like my favourite toy from childhood. So close in my memory yet so far. Today, when I am in this utter pain, I take each step with difficulty and crib, I think of her.
How did her self-talk look like with all that pain? How did she find courage from within to carry out normal tasks of the day? How did she still continue to do paath and have so much faith in Akaal Purakh?
I thought I was an empathetic human. I thought I fairly understood how human mind functioned. Then how did I just focus on her physical pain? Was I even empathizing all along?
As I continued to feel sad, sorry, helpless, I couldn't help but appreciate the fact of how she was such a strong woman who not only fought a long physical battle but an even arduous mental one. I wonder how inside of her mind looked. And I believe, if I can tell myself even an iota of positive things she would have told herself, I will sail through this physical pain of mine.
She indeed left parts of herself in each of us. It's just a matter of time until we discover them. And once we do, there is no turning back. There is just before and after.
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