A letter from a mother to her son on his 30th birthday

My darling Opsi,

Today you turn 30. Your father and I would have got your favourite chocolate truffle cake and you would have blown out the candle. Phulki, Ella and Jamun would have watched, eyes firmly on the cake which they are not allowed to touch, but we would have got them a healthy canine alternative with carrot and honey which they could have munched while we had our pieces of cake. You were always big on birthdays. Your friends tell me that no matter where you were whether in India or US you would always be at the head of the cake buying brigade for your countless friends. No doubt the previous night there would have been midnight calls from friends as you had repeatedly informed me that in your generation it is “very rude” not to wake up the concerned person at midnight to wish them happy birthday.

Except that this year you are not here. Physically. You left more than a year ago for other realms. I cannot hear the pitter patter on the stairs as you noisily come down with your rubber chappals, I do not see you standing beside me heating the food for dinner, I do not hear your shout outs about which dog has been taken out and which one is next in queue, I do not feel you pulling my hair as you pass by my study, I cannot plan yet another holiday with you just the two of us in jeans and with backpacks like we have done numerous times in the past and I have no one left at home with whom to argue on books, movies, politics, economics, feminism. And oh yes, I miss your Whats App chats - there was rarely a day I did not get something from you even if you were upstairs in your room and I was downstairs in my study. I have preserved the messages – even now you are the only one who can really make me laugh and all I have to do is open your messages and read your irrepressible comments.

I also do not know why I cry like there is no tomorrow on a pavement in Delhi when I see green guavas (no not the squishy ones the firm green ones) or find my eyes welling up every time I tie a saree. I remember as a little boy you had entered the room while I was fixing my pallu and noticed the stretch marks. Voice trembling with horror you had exclaimed : Maa WHAT is that, with your little fingers pointing at my many stretch marks. I had laughed it off and provided you with an easy explanation. You were a large baby and I am a small woman so the skin was stretched when you emerged! There was a moment of theatrical silence and then you said in a stage whisper: you mean you got these because of ME? And I said but I love them! I will always carry you with me! Stretch marks are strength marks as someone said. And now they are my memory marks. Yes Apu I will always carry you with me as long as I have this body.

But like I said while I miss your physical presence acutely I have never felt you left me. It is not just the memory marks on my midriff exposed every time I tie my saree. That too is a physical manifestation. But you have shown me time and time again that what we call death is just the demise of the body. And you are not just your body. You have sent me and your friends numerous signs (that is for another blog post) to clearly indicate that the energy body can be transformed but can never be destroyed. You know I am not on any social media but if I had to make a post on your first death anniversary on 27 July 2023 I would have written “with you 365 days, 24/7.” When you were physically present on earth there were times you were there, times when you were only half there, times when for long stretches of time you were simply not there at all. But since that fateful day when you left your body you have stayed with me all the time. I just need to reach out to you and you are there. Inside. Merged with every surviving cell – I say surviving cell because I am sure some died when you did. How could it not have?

And so as I carry you inside of me once again like your nine months nestled in my womb, I re learn how to laugh, how to celebrate, how to find joy. I make new meaning out of life as I repurpose it with your help from wherever you are. I am learning how to travel with you once again even though you are not physically here. And you and I are travelling to Chennai tomorrow so hope you are ready! Your team will participate in the Street Children cricket world cup – I will see your beloved cricket bat raised high as your team bats for you as you and I cheer from the stands. I will see you in the smiles of these children whose lives you have touched through the sport you lived for and though they have never met you in person they know all about their Apu Bhaiya. They asked me some tough ones at the tea stall party in our garden after their cricket match when they came to Delhi. Like what did Apu Bhaiya like more? Alu tikkis or pani puris? That one had me stumped Apu!

You know your mother too well Apu. You know my responsibility towards you cannot end with me cremating your body. I have let go of your mortal body and immersed your ashes with my own hand in the flowing waters of the Ganga but how can I let go of your spirit? Fly free of all earthly shackles my beloved child and do not worry about me. If you are happy, I am happy, if you are peaceful, I am peaceful, if you are okay , I am okay. I will take care of all you left behind on earth. Cricket, dogs, love and compassion will come together in an ever expanding canvas – and through the Upamanyu Mallik Initiatives you will live on and you and I will continue to travel together on this planet till I meet you on the other side.

With love always,
Maa