Fainting into a Consciousness

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Everything is blurry. There's a bright point of light in front of me. I stare at it blankly for a while, unable to form a coherent thought. There are drops of water sprinkled on my face, but I don't question it. It doesn't seem odd. Nothing seems odd, not even the dark blobs popping into my view, blocking the harsh rays of light. Blobs that look like heads. Like faces.

I feel a tinge of curiosity building in my mind, but I'm still unable to frame it into a question. And then I see her. A face wrought with worry and terrible fear. All barriers inside my head break loose in a moment, and I understand what I need to do. I need to console her, tell her not to worry, tell her that everything is okay even though I don't yet know what is wrong. 

It takes a few more seconds to realize that it was me she was worried about. As my senses return, I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. I look around and see that I'm on the floor. She is holding me tightly, as if I'd fall back into the dark the moment she lets go. Ignoring the pain in my head, I reassure her, "I'm okay, mom. I'm okay."

It was the first time I had fainted, that too in a dramatic fashion by hitting my head on the floor. It was also the first time I had seen my mom so afraid, and the first time I felt the intensity of my own worry for her. In the days to come, I found myself being more conscious of her. Our morning walks by the beach and our conversations from the bedroom became all the more cherished. It was ironic, as it was me who had fallen and given her a shock. 

Thirty years apart, I feel amazed at how well we get along. She is my favourite person to talk to. Even though we have beliefs that are polar opposites, we'd listen to each other and understand. We'd elaborate our thoughts, let each other in on our separate, personal lives. What makes it so special is the reciprocation I get in this relationship, with no drama, no ill will, no insecurities. It is the simplest and purest of bonds I find so rare out there. I cannot imagine losing this one day, cannot imagine a life without it. 

She is the reason I want to be a mother myself. I want to have this relationship with my own children some day. But every time I give her a call and listen to her words that make everything feel alright, I wonder if I could ever reach up to that. I wonder if I could ever have that kind of effect on someone else. I can only hope.

I want to talk about her more. I want the world to know about this beautiful soul, her interesting life as she grappled through jobs from various places, how she continues to explore her interests today, welcoming opportunities on the way, making me believe in how exciting life could be if you choose so. On that note, it would be unfair of me not to mention my dad, who too is tirelessly churning his mind exploring passions of his own well past retirement. But that is a story for another day. 

Today, as the world celebrates women's day, I want to celebrate my mother. I want to celebrate her for the person that she is, and for what she means to me. I want to celebrate the bond that we've nurtured, the inspiration she is to all the lives she has touched, and the woman she has made of me.  

And I want to celebrate myself, for growing into who I am today, and all that I am going to be in the years to come. A big part of which, I will owe to her. 

Here's to you, ma. 

Happy women's day.

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This blog post is part of the Women's Day Blog Hop, themed on She: A Tribute to Her, hosted by Swarnali Nath