Continuing on our journey through #womenshistorymonth, I pay tribute to my mother. A woman of great personal integrity, monumental courage, and selfless beyond comprehension, her memory remains a beacon of encouragement when my spirit is low and I search for comfort.
My earliest recollection of my mother is her low sweet voice humming. She could be chopping vegetables, fixing our hair, embroidering fantastic designs on tablecloths, pillowcases, sofa covers; stitching our clothes, knitting sweaters. She was also a voracious reader, reading late into the night when her chores were over and we safely in bed.
After leaving India, any time I heard a Tagore song on the radio, which was as infrequent as sunshine during monsoon, it was my mother’s face that leaped into my mind. I would relive my childhood then. During the summer vacations, afternoons were spent indoors to escape from the hot wind and dust raging outside. Our mother made it all worthwhile, however, by singing Tagore songs she had written down in a book. How I wish I could see that book one more time, touch it, and perhaps, by that one single gesture turn the clock back. When we are young, we take our parents for granted, thinking they are here to stay forever.
My poem “Book of Songs” is dedicated to my mother. I have included it in my book TWENTY TWO FOR 22, a collection of short stories, poetry, and travel vignettes. Visit my website to read the poem – www.purabisinhadas.com
Stay safe and keep well.
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