Remembering Mother On Mother’s Day

Remembering Mother On Mother’s Day

Rudyard Kipling said: “God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers.”

Every mother loves her children. And every child adores her at least till he is a child. In some cases it lasts longer and even beyond life. My mother died young. God can’t send all His angels on earth and let them be there forever. Phir to dharti hi swarg ho jayegi, aur use kaun poochhega?

She was forty-five and I was twenty-two years old then. She loved us all very much, especially me, at least my sisters would say so. But I never reciprocated or appreciated it, not until the full meaning of love started unraveling to me, in all its forms. I didn’t understand her love until long after she was gone.

Now I write about her when her thoughts occur to me. But the thoughts don’t bring back the loved ones. They only bring back the memories and tears and smiles too, and the eyes stay moist all the while….

Sometimes I think that this gift of writing also came to me from her. How silly of me to think like that. When my life itself is a gift from her, obviously everything that I have should be seen by me as a gift from her. I still have her diary in which she used to write “Bhajans”. Some composed by her and some of the others. I have long held the desire of publishing those, but they need to be edited. There’s a lot of stuff with me, that needs to be revisited and edited, but then new thoughts keep flooding my mind and the old ones are lost. Pata nahin main yeh sab kar paaonga ki nahin par kabhi kabhi main apni Pitari mein se kuchh panne nikalata hoon aur padh leta hoon aur agar kisi aise platform par ho uoon, jahan mere kuchh aur mitr, bandhu ya chahanewale bhi aate-rehate hon to un se bhi kuchh share kar leta hoon. To, ab main jab computer ke saamne hi baitha hoon to lo aap logon ke saath main ye post share kar leta hoon. Saari to nahin- bahut lambi hai, par thodi si-

Remembering Mother On this Mother’s Day

If tears could build a stairway,

And memories a lane,

I’d walk right up to Heaven,

And bring you home again…

This is not written by me….

I came across the following beautiful poems on Mother while surfing the net…

Maa

ho gaye jawan bache, boorhi ho rahi hai maa,

be-charagh ankhon me khwab bo rahi hai maa,

roti apne hissay ki dey ke apne bacho.n  ko

sabr ki rida orrhe bhooki so rahi hai maa,

saans ki mariza hai phir bhi thande pani se

kitni sakht sardi main kapre dho rahi hai maa,

gair ki shikaayat par, phir kisi sharaarat par

maar kar mujhe, khud hi ro rahi hai maa,

khelne se jo mujh ko rokti thi mitti se

oorh kar usi mitti ko aaj so rahi hai maa,

Sermad, Pakistan

And here’s another one

अम्मा

चिंतन दर्शन जीवन सर्जन

रूह नज़र पर छाई अम्मा

सारे घर का शोर शराबा

सूनापन तनहाई अम्मा

उसने खुद़ को खोकर मुझमें

एक नया आकार लिया है,

धरती अंबर आग हवा जल

जैसी ही सच्चाई अम्मा

सारे रिश्ते- जेठ दुपहरी

गर्म हवा आतिश अंगारे

झरना दरिया झील समंदर

भीनी-सी पुरवाई अम्मा

घर में झीने रिश्ते मैंने

लाखों बार उधड़ते देखे

चुपके चुपके कर देती थी

जाने कब तुरपाई अम्मा

बाबू जी गुज़रे, आपस में-

सब चीज़ें तक़सीम हुई तब-

मैं घर में सबसे छोटा था

मेरे हिस्से आई अम्मा

– आलोक श्रीवास्तव

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