January 2012

The absence is complete..yet the presence is palpable. It is there in the form of strewn shoes…an unmade bed…perfume lingering in the air, like a guest reluctant to leave..even the comb wants to hang on to a glossy long hair as a keepsake.

Her presence is everywhere..a silent witness, it winks from countertops and jumbled clothes, it gives away every personality trait of my teen aged daughter..sometimes reluctantly and sometimes with glee..sure in the knowledge that it will get a reaction out of me. I am reluctant to start cleaning and clearing..enjoying her presence in her absence. I see examples of this girl-woman in little things that looming adulthood has not taken away yet..three magenta colored monkeys keeping Gandhijis lessons alive…a fluffy stuffed toy, a keepsake from babyhood still finds pride of place. Alongside it are photographs capturing the metamorphoses of a baby into a young woman.

She is faraway now… gone for higher studies..that sounds ironical too because she always makes me feel that she knows everything..it’s in the folding of clothes and clearing of clutter that I feel oddly close to my child. This child, who loves paneer, poetry and her point of view all with equal fervour.

Though she is not in my field of vision she’s still everywhere..sitting squarely in my heart and in her home..With every move of my hands that remove the creases from her clothes I say a prayer..be happy..be safe…be yourself…

Time is a tough guardian. It makes memories fade away like writings on sand. The freshness and excitement of a new experience, once so enchanting, dulls like the ink on prayer flags high up on the mountains. Try as one might, one cannot hold on to too much for too long. Its nature’s way of ensuring that sanity can be preserved in a human being. Yet, some memories defy time and stay ever fresh. That also seems to be for our sanity…I place my hand in my young daughters and instantly a picture is taken by the mind’s eye for safekeeping. This picture will be etched just like the first time her chubby fingers held mine as a baby. I think of my mother’s hands, showing signs of a lifetime of work… I think of the times they have created ever so lovingly – favourite foods, warm sweaters, blessings, reassurances, prayers…they have never stopped working and weaving their magic.  They say hands reveal a person’s age like nothing else can. I say hands reveal how much a person has loved. Time definitely leaves its trace on everything it touches…