Building Memories

Sumita watches the happy, cherubic four year old boy, play with a toy prism. The boy looks fascinated, as he watches the sun rays stream and fall over the colorful toy prism, creating a well-lit reflection on the balcony ceiling.

“He loves playing with shadows and reflections, doesn’t he?” she asks a young woman, who is seated next to her.

A woman, in her early thirties, lifts her head, to look up at the child. She responds with a nod and a quick smile, before diving deep into the book that she’d been reading.

Almost bedridden, Sumita continues to observe the child, looking strangely happy, until something dawns upon her.

“But Tara, who is he?” Sumita asks, intrigued by the charming boy in front of her.

Amused, yet not surprised, Tara looks up and holds the sexagenarian’s hand lovingly.

“Why, he’s your grandson and my son ma! Did you forget, again?”

Sumita, with her brows creased in deep thought, shook her head, but she did not look convinced.

“When did you get married and to whom?” she asked suddenly, feeling more pained than surprised. It was as if she was not notified of her own daughter’s marriage.

Sighing deeply, Tara again went back reading her book.

“To Shekhar ma! You got us married seven years ago!” she said flipping a page of the book casually.

“Ok”, Sumita replied, looking still confused than ever.

After pondering on the situation for some moments, she mumbled something into herself.

Tara kept glancing at her on and off, before she closed her book.

“Now who are you talking to and what are you talking about?”

Irritated at the disturbance that her daughter had created, Sumita, held up her hand, signaling her to wait.

After about ten good minutes, she spoke again.

“Your father wants to talk to him. He says, he has a message for him!”

Tara thought of ignoring her, but she said tenderly, “Tell him to give me the message. After all, he is too young to understand his message. I will simplify and tell it to him later. Ok?”

Happy that she had wanted to talk to the father, the old lady, nodded, as she once again went into a trance, to chat with her ex-husband, who had passed away some five years ago!

Suffered through her teenage years, but diagnosed with Schizophrenia much later, Sumita’s hallucinations, her emotional indifference to the world around her, had cost her more than what others could barely imagine. It had cost her loss of identity, her sense of self, her confidence and most importantly, her peace and calm as a mother.

----

Twenty five years ago

“Sheena has a test”, a somber looking woman in her late twenties said haughtily to an eight year old Tara.

“Why don’t you go and study for your test. Don’t you have to study on your own?”

Pinched by the question, the little girl got her message. After all, how would a chronic Schizophrenic patient teach a girl? Tara caught a glimpse of a slight smirk on Sheena’s face, who was hiding behind her mother.

Fighting her tears, Tara nodded and left for home.

An eight year girl with Schizophrenic mother was often the victim of ridicule due to her mother’s ailment.

The incessant sarcasm and mockery had at one point, bereft little Tara of any friends. Boycotted by a society, which often looked at her as a contagious germ, capable of inflicting an unnamed contagion.

Left to her own, with her own devices, little Tara, often found her way, soothing self, with solo play.

One day, while playing teacher and student, wearing her mother’s sari, the little girl was playfully interjected.

“Did you eat your tiffin today?” Sumita asked as she lightly weighed the contents in the little girl’s school

box.

Tara bit her lip, “Yes!”

“Why is it still heavy? Did you not share it with your friend?”

“I didn’t want anyone to share it with, ma!”

Sumita knew the truth. Who would be friends with a girl, who wasn’t considered sane because of her mother!

The next day, Sumita stuffed a bigger lunch box in Tara’s bag.

“I don’t want so much food ma!” Tara said objecting to the size of the box, which would add to her

school bag weight.

“It’s not just for you. It’s for you and your friend!”

“Which friend?”

“You can choose anyone as friend and share!”

Tara was weighed down. Not by the school bag, but more by the thought of finding a friend to share her tiffin with.

During the recess, she opened her big school box hesitantly. That day, her school box had puri, chole and

mango pickle. The smell wafted in the class and a few little heads turned around to look at her box

contents.

Shying away from the idea of asking someone, Tara slowly started eating.

She caught glimpse of Swati, the dancing queen of her class, staring at her.

“Would you mind?” she asked.

“No!”

Swati stopped.

Tara quickly added, “I mean no, I wouldn’t mind. Please have some. I have a lot!”

What started with food, soon grew into friendship and soon Tara found her way of making friends.

“Ma today I shared my food with Swati. She loved the chole and pickle and said I should get some more!”

Sumita smiled, looking at her, as she lay on the bed.

She pushed herself to a seating position, smiled and said, “I will for sure.”

The little girl was delighted. Her mother had helped her, to break the barriers in friendship!

Twenty years ago

Sumita craned her neck, while lying heavily sedated on the bed. The strong anti-psychotic drugs helped,

in terms of keeping her serotonin and dopamine levels in check, but sedated her to the extent of keeping

her confined to the bed.

She fought against the heaviness, to catch a glimpse and see what her teenage daughter, a young Tara

was doing. The little girl was pouring her head and counting something in her little fingers.

“What are you doing baba?”

The little girl, looked confused. She looked longingly at her mother, as she sat on the floor mat.

“Isn’t that your History text book??Why, didn’t you just write the test last week?”

The little girl’s cheeks flushed and she felt hot.

“I failed in that test ma,” she said, without looking up. “I’m told to give a re-test next week.”

Enveloped with a feeling of sadness and helplessness, Sumita looked up at the ceiling.

Tara looked at her mother, before she went into memorizing the details from her textbook.

“Why don’t you tell me the story?” Sumita asked, again breaking the child’s concentration.

Shocked at first, and then a little irritated later, an annoyed Tara shot back.

“Not now ma. I need to memorize the dates and names first!”

“No, now! Sumita said irritably. “Tell me the story that you are reading in the textbook!”

“It is not a story ma!” Tara shot back. “It’s a fact!”

“I know!” the mother said feeling cross. “Narrate it to me like you do, when telling a story. You will

remember the facts well!”

Little Tara had opened her mouth to argue, but closed it.

It was true! Tara loved reading and telling stories, but she never knew, up until then, that she could use it

to her advantage to memorize historical facts from her school textbook.

She smiled and began, “Once upon a time….”

The next week, her story telling had fetched her top scores in History test, her confidence in herself and

most importantly, her mother’s smile and her warm hug! The little girl was happy! Her mother, like all mothers, had helped her too!

----

Twelve years ago

College graduation farewell party was ushering in a lot of excitement and preparations way ahead than

the D-day! Tara didn’t want to miss all that. Going with the flow, she too had splurged and ended up

buying a gorgeous black and gold sari for the event. However, flow of events turned out in a way, that

she couldn’t wear it on the said day.

Crying bitterly, a flustered Tara rummaged through her cupboard, one more time, but alas, she couldn’t

find an outfit to match up to the event.

“If only that stupid tailor had stitched my blouse on time!” she cried.

Sumita was feeling weak and drowsy, yet she tried to shuffle through the pile of clothes, on the bed.

“Look isn’t it the same salwar-kurta that you made out of my old Benarasi sari? It’s gorgeous! Why don’t

you wear it babu? You will look beautiful!”

Tara noticed her mother’s delighted spectacled face, excited at the prospect of finding an outfit.

“It’s ok ma!” she said as she started folding her clothes and neatly laying them back into her cupboard. “I won’t go! It’s ok!”

Surprised and saddened by her daughter’s declaration, Sumita tried holding her hand, but an overwhelmed Tara shook her off.

Feeling bad for refuting her mother’s effort, she slowly looked back at her mother’s bowed head and held her, before bursting into fresh tears.

“Nobody will notice me ma! It’s ok, I won’t go! You don’t have to do this!”

A bespectacled Sumita gently smiled, in her usual gentle way and made her daughter sit next to her.

“It’s an event of a lifetime dear! All your friends and teachers will be looking forward to seeing you! You should go!”

Despite her mother’s words, Tara’s tears didn’t stop. No outfit and no words of assurance could make up for that missing sari!

“This is an event to celebrate everyone’s efforts, your moments with friends, your teachers and your

college. You should feel happy about this!”

Sumita stroked her daughter as she continued, “This event is not at the mercy of a dress. Whether you

wear a sari or not, is immaterial. That is just a superficial thing. Don’t get dampened by such a small

issue. Think about it Tara!”

Tear stained Tara looked at her mother, trying to absorb her words.

“Ten years down the line, it won’t matter what dress you wore or how you looked! What will matter would be that you were present and you enjoyed in the company of friends and teachers, who you loved!

This is your chance to build a happy memory! You will not meet them after this! So go!”

Tara felt strangely comforted and happy with her mother’s wise words. She quickly dressed up and went to the event. Although, she felt low initially, but at the end of the day, those smiling faces made up for that loss. She learnt that to enjoy and build memories, one just needed the right attitude!

---

Three months ago

“Was I a good mother to you and bhaiya?”

Stunned at her mother’s question, Tara looked at her mother’s face. Wrinkled and aged, her face surprisingly looked more aged than before. Nonetheless, her probing eyes still held the same gentleness, warmth and love. Tara looked at her mother, held her hand and nodded.

“You were a perfect mother and still are!”

“What good did I do?” Sumita continued to ask her with her childlike curiosity.

“You did a lot of good things, but most importantly, you built happy memories. Memories, which we will always hold onto and cherish, for the rest of our lives!”

Sumita smiled, before once again getting lost in her own world!

---

Sumita was my mother and she passed away a month ago!

As a mother, I now realize that it is crucial to build happy memories for kids. It helps them feel secure and happy! Every parent wants happiness for their kids and so, this will be my way of working at it.

This will be my way of paying my last respects to my mother!

Thank you ma for giving me a happy life! I will make sure I create happy memories for my child, just the way you did for me!