“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away,” said Maya Angelou, the well-known American author. And, it’s both true and beautiful.
As my son is about to enter teenage, I sometimes tell my friends that I already find him needing more-than-permitted ‘personal space’ and ‘alone-time’ and needing less of me. It kind of tests me, especially when he avoids my displays of affection. I am a psychologist, yet the possessive mother in me has to be (wants to be) reminded that these are his natural phases of growing up and it doesn’t (in any way) indicate his lessened love. Yet, I let myself crib (a bit) about him growing ‘away’ from me; though I know that I wouldn’t have it otherwise myself. Afterall, every parent wants the off-spring to become independent and self-reliant…
Since sometime, I have also been telling my friends that something inside of me is changing – I have always enjoyed reading despite not being able to do it regularly or very systematically. But recently, no book is holding my interest longer than a few days. I pick up a read, much hopefully, for I have taken recommendations and done a lot of review screening online. Yet, post a few pages, my interest dwindles. Phew! It had been bringing about even mood changes in me as books have offered me much-desired company a lot of, a lot of and most of the times.
Life, however, goes on. Routine, work, home, duties, leisure, conversations, ups and downs… it goes on. Then one day, when I am back home from work, sipping tea in a relaxed mode at one of my most comfortable and favourite spots and my son is prepping up for his tennis class, he suddenly walks to his school bag, takes out a not-too-huge book by the revered Ruskin Bond, hands it over to me and says, ‘I issued this from the library for you’. My heart skips a beat. The book has a very attractive and soothing cover page. And for the book to be picked up by a child (okay, yes, almost-teenager) who avoids any and all sorts of reading, for it equates ‘studying’ for him, and for my requirement to be perceived exactly and efficiently, and for the gift of care by a loving son, Ah! The little yet not so little gesture added years (and more years) to my life! Both literally and figuratively.
{{/usCountry}}Life, however, goes on. Routine, work, home, duties, leisure, conversations, ups and downs… it goes on. Then one day, when I am back home from work, sipping tea in a relaxed mode at one of my most comfortable and favourite spots and my son is prepping up for his tennis class, he suddenly walks to his school bag, takes out a not-too-huge book by the revered Ruskin Bond, hands it over to me and says, ‘I issued this from the library for you’. My heart skips a beat. The book has a very attractive and soothing cover page. And for the book to be picked up by a child (okay, yes, almost-teenager) who avoids any and all sorts of reading, for it equates ‘studying’ for him, and for my requirement to be perceived exactly and efficiently, and for the gift of care by a loving son, Ah! The little yet not so little gesture added years (and more years) to my life! Both literally and figuratively.
{{/usCountry}}Past few months, I had been unable to stick to any genre (indicating perhaps a reading block). And I had forgotten my childhood favourite over the course of time. My son sensed both the things, without me realising his improved perception, his heightened ‘aabhaas’, and his budding maturity. So the sight of the book took my breath away and suddenly quenched my motherhood too. Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away… Could anything be truer?
I am suddenly back to my always-cheerful persona. I am suddenly, again, looking forward to our summer trip to Mussoorie as I turn the pages of the book with mesmerising descriptions of the very same hill-station (after all, Ruskin Bond and Mussoorie, as we all know, are refreshingly and intricately intertwined)! I am suddenly feeling better loved and better occupied.
In another dimension, it would also be great if everyone aims at giving each other such thoughtful and life-adding presents. Presents like time, understanding, authenticity, loyalty. It’ll add life to our years and not just years to our lives. And this holds both for the giver and the receiver.
Thank you, Jitesh! Thank you, Maya Angelou!
reemaban@gmail.com
(The writer is a Jagadhri-based freelance contributor )