No one I know is handling isolation better than my mother. There is a lesson in everything she does. One that reveals itself subtly, from lived example. She hasn’t stepped out of her house in four months but is far more cheerful and life-affirming than most. She visited temples everyday, now she doesn’t; she has a group of friends nearby she met everyday, now she doesn’t; she loves long walks, she has had to give that up. Through all this (and we haven’t met meanwhile), I never once heard her complain or grumble. She just turned 81.
She knows the value of routine, understands that not every alternative is the better one. We are the lucky ones, she reminds us. Children and grandchildren are with loved ones, what more can anyone ask for? To be happy and not know it is tragedy. She calls up the postman and the vegetable vendor and newspaperman to check on them and ensure they have someone to talk to.
While most people withdraw further into themselves in this situation, she seems to be blossoming. She was 70 when she sent her first email, and delighted in googling information. She keeps in touch with a host of friends and relatives on Facebook. Now, a decade later, she has taken to sketching, something she last did when she was in school. She has also begun to nurture vegetables in grow bags and pots around the house. She writes out by hand the Ramayana. It’s an exercise for the mind, body and spirit, she says.
It is never too late to learn something new: she brings the cliché alive. It is easy to slip into “why-me-ism” and move backwards from the here-and-now. But she lives in the moment. And never takes anything for granted – my father had been in fine health when he passed away nearly a decade ago. There is acceptance in her every move, gratitude whatever she does. To be grateful for life is a special quality. She is not just cheerful herself, but the cause of cheer in others.
My parents had been married for over 50 years. She continues to live in the house they shared because she feels his presence there, comforting, protecting, shielding her from harshness as he had done before.
Had she been born a generation or two later, she might have been a top sportswoman. She played a mean game of badminton even in her fifties. She might have been a cricketer. She has a natural ball sense, occasionally startling young children with her ability as a juggler! She is a gifted singer, and dancer too. Talents that might have led to fame and fortune, but ones she merely saw as being for enjoyment - her own, and that of loved ones.
She has a ready laugh, a fine line in self-deprecation. When I was young, I wanted to grow up to be like Tiger Pataudi or Albert Einstein. Now I hope I grow up to be like my mother.