This One’s For You Ma…

Dr.Kamala Das

 

It isn’t very sensible to write about your mother and more so, when she was a literary luminary like Kamala Das. And rightly so, I never did attempt doing this for all these years..

Life was all sorted till Babu my colleague, friend and senior journalist stormed into my room and asked me to do a piece on my mother for this Sunday’s issue..

I was obviously unprepared and had a weak defence and said i would think about it. And this is where the disruption all started..

I must confess I have never been as worried as I am now, while I write this knowing fully well that my mother would have liked me to run this past her and I can’t.

But that is only one half of my problems. This is about Kamala Das, the iconic Nobel nominee who wrote with a characteristic élan that only she could pull off.. And boy, could she !

Embracing controversy was almost like having her customary mug of tea ..

From her penchant for bringing female sexuality out of the Indian closet to adopting a new faith, she did it all and quite unabashedly.

And yet, somewhere in the middle of this interesting life, she was also much mother to the three of us. I was probably her only child as she would say, as my brothers were born well before she even turned 18. They were her friends she told me. I wondered how that would be like, till the time our own relationship turned into a friendship during her last few years.

We talked incessantly on everything in life and never for once did it feel like a mother-son bond. I saw despair, vulnerability, sadness, fulfilment and acceptance and belief unfold between us during these last years of her life…

It took me back to my wonderful childhood and the sheer pleasure of growing up with her. A house full of poets, writers, musicians and filmmakers who derived energy from her character and persona. My father, immersed in his RBI files, gave her the freedom to be Kamala and nothing ever mattered to him more than her happiness. A wonderfully patient listener who had the capacity to soothe her when she needed solace.

For the record, I was pampered to the core, allowed to skip school when I felt like sleeping in, allowed to buy rubbish off the shops in Mumbai and given the liberty to accompany her to every public function.

Sucking my thumb in public was acceptable. It’s a different matter that the buck-teeth came along as promised and I was yet again allowed to keep them away from the dentist. To set the record straight, the dentist in question couldn’t have done anything to improve them anyway.

But the point here, ladies and gentleman, is actually about my overzealous colleague who believed I could write about my mother and get away with it..

I never did write when she was alive save a childhood travelogue decades ago. I didn’t have the guts probably to write alongside this giant figure in the family. It’s just wrong and against the basic fundamentals of our universe.

But then, this is about a woman who never worried about being right. She lived on her own terms and if there is some truth in genetics, I ought to have got a bit of her politically incorrect style.

So Ma, wherever you are am certain you’re having a jolly good time and behaving just the way you are meant to.

Yes, I miss you and hated you for not being there for me during the tough phases when I needed you to hold my hand and allow me to rest my tired head on your shoulders.

I hated you for not being there to laugh with me when I cracked a silly joke,
I knew you would laugh your guts to. I hated you for not being there to see me write shamelessly, often calling a spade a spade and yet somewhere I sensed you around me each time…

You never were a good cook, nor did you even attempt to help with my days in school when I grappled with Maths and Hindi and subjects I am glad I am done with. Parents are supposed to do all this but you were not the typical mother nor was academics, or a good meal at home, your priority.

But what you gave instead, was unconditional love and so much of learning that will probably see the next few generations of the Das family survive with.

You taught me to love and laugh without worrying about what the world would say. You told me how good friends must always remain part of my life and how I must love them, irrespective of what they may turn out to be. “Just love recklessly” you said time and again. And when I did and eventually found my wife to be, you said with your characteristic laugh, “you’re a lucky bloke, this girl will actually love you too”, “marry her” !

You gave her and your grand-daughters unparalleled love, laced with stories that they will remember through their lives. Each time, a new one. A master weave from your amazing loom. Thank you Ma, for every little thing you gave me, every word of it…

The world may have lost Kamala but let me tell you, for me you are pretty much there, smiling, laughing and loving like never before. Thank you Ma, for teaching me how to just be ‘me’…

And yes, I love you and will always do…

Jaisurya Das