Life is Cyclic

As soon as the school bell pealed for the last time in the day, little Sanju ran through the blue classroom door, streaked up the corridor, and capered into the courtyard where parents usually waited to pick their children up. Fair and flashing, Sanju rushed up to her grandma and started dragging her for home. She had by now accepted that this was the wont for her - since her mum and dad were at work, Sanju returned home with her grandma every evening.

Grandma lovingly brushed her curly hair, smoothened her red sweater on ash tunic, and calmed her down, 'Sanju, your omma's growing older by the day. Don't you think you ought to slow down?'

'Oh omma, Titun, Papan, Mou, Bappa, Munia would be there already. I can't be late! They'll form a better team for kho-kho if I arrived late,' Sanju pressed on in dismay.

'They sure would, but you aren't going anywhere without finishing your snacks. I'll have to tame and tie your wayward flyaways as well. And remember to be back early. You can't sleep off without wrapping up your homework,' omma commanded gently but firmly and Sanju had to oblige.

Sanju, though a precocious child, was still a child - she wanted to hang around with her pals till late evening and step in only before her mum arrived - the only person she thought was the hardest to appease and whose rules should be adhered to without questions. 

Years flew. Sanju grew up, completed her studies, and joined the profession of her choice. Kids always cheered her up; what best could she be other than their mentor? The more hours she put in at school, the more she started to admire and understand from her mother's shoes. By then, more mums were at work and more grandparents showed up to bring children back home. Sanju reflected on her own school days and as she tried to trace her omma in each of them, her thin lips often curled up to a nostalgic smile.

Roles had reversed - she didn't need her omma's hand anymore to move around, but her omma did, well not quite literally. Omma wouldn't go for her evening chores until Sanju returned home, gave her the usual hug, and had her evening snacks. Then they'd go on for a little chit-chat. 

'Isn't it incredible, omma, how mum does it all?'

'It is, Sanju, you too are walking the path she has paved for you. Be patient. Soon you'll have so much to do on your plate.'

'Oh omma, you'll always be there to help, won't you? You can pick up your great grandchildren from school, can't you?'... and they'd both break into laughter!

While her bond with omma was always most cherished, Sanju's camaraderie with her mum was evolving by the year. The strict-mum image during her school days was gradually fading to a friendlier one. Once omma took to bed, Sanju would wait for her mum eagerly. They'd talk, dine, and discuss each other's day. Sanju looked up to her mum's bespectacled calm looks - her own eyes soft in admiration and respect. She'd hug her, thank her, and put her to bed before retiring to her cosy corner. 

As time would have it, Sanju got married, had an equally pretty, intelligent daughter, Tista, and a loving husband, Titun. Her omma was no more but she seemed to be there everywhere - in the blanket that Titas clung to, in the gold bangles she slid her hands into, and in the quietest corner of her heart. Meanwhile, her mum stepped up to the plate - who'd play better omma to Tista than her!

But one day, Sanju stopped in her tracks when she heard her mum, 'Did you know, your omma made this omelette today, isn't it fluffy?'

'Seriously? How can she, she's gone!'

'Gone? Where?'

Sanju rolled her eyes and ignored, but not for long. Her mum would call her and Tista in different names, names that belonged to her childhood friends or cousin sisters. Young Tista would stare back at her, confounded. With passing months, the symptoms categorically started indicating of severe dementia but Sanju refused to accept. 

'It can't be mum,' shocked, she repeated to herself, 'not her. How can she be? She's my super mum afterall.'

Gradually the colour drained from her mum's deep, dark eyes. Sanju couldn't refute the inescapable anymore. It was time to take the tough decision she was painfully procrastinating.

'It is disheartening to let go of Ms Sanju so she can care for her family, her mum,' announced the school Principal in one morning assembly. Sanju's vision was as blurry as others; they all bid her goodbye with eyes welled up in tears and hugs heavy with ache of separation. 

Juggling between the roles of mum to Tista alongside that of daughter's to address mum's needs was daunting, insurmountable. But Sanju persevered with steadfastness. Once Tista aced her entrance examinations and joined a reputed local college, Sanju heaved a long sigh of relief. But that was ephemeral as her mum wasn't doing any better. She wouldn't cooperate with hired carers, wouldn't eat, wouldn't talk or walk or understand. Sanju took to full-time mum-sitting - fathomless patience being her only weapon against mum's muted agitation, distress, discomforts. A weak sliver of hope that mum might bounce back to normal kept her going, though, she was fully aware that only a divine intervention would reverse the process of this inexorable degeneration. She consigned those negative thoughts to deeper folds of her mind - unwilling to snuff out the little flame of hope that bolstered her spirit to look after her mum.

At times mum's eyes went blank but at other times they were full of mirth - a line or two of her favourite songs would fill the otherwise silent air. If she remembered all the words she'd have talked her heart out in those moments. Sanju left no stones unturned to keep her clean, happy, decked up as best as she could. She treated her bed sores - the sores aggravated from long periods of supine posture; she tried water mattress to alleviate the pain; she supported her to sit longer, and cheer her up but with no tangible returns - mum had almost forgotten she was her precious daughter. Sanju's heart bled, but she wouldn't give up - her pertinacity was unwavering. 

Tista, now an accomplished engineer, decided to further her studies overseas. She was as unstoppable as the bubbly brooks at their mouths in the mountain. As much as it pained to permit her, Sanju approved of her decision. What else could she do? Stop her from getting what others could only dream of? Tista took a bit of her heart away with her while mum resided in the remaining part. 

Six strenuous years later, one evening, Sanju's mum sat by her bed table for a long time - she was pale but expressions were running like a fast-forawarded movie in her eyes. Was she groping for words to put forth her thoughts? 

'Mum, would you like to say something, anything,' Sanju asked ever so gently, her own eyes stinging with the tang of tears. Gathering up the vestigial strength, mum smiled - one last smile. Like an epic, a lifetime of stories, memories, work and knowledge culminated in the greatest of all truths - the unassailable and inevitable end.

It took months for Sanju to come to terms with the loss; perhaps the grieve will fade with time, but won't be gone altogether. Yet, there is always glimmer of light beside tough times - nothing is forever. Tista getting married to her childhood sweetheart was like a rainbow in her cloudy-sunny sky. It gave her a hope, happiness,  and brought back to her cheerful memories - someday she might step into omma's shoes when time comes.

Dona, Sydney, June '23