I have numerous reasons to hate my mom.
She irritates me
with her philosophy that MARRIAGE is the ultimate destination of life. Her too
much belief in GOD gets on my nerves. I get annoyed when she treats herself as
an impure being when she is on her periods…
Yes, I can write pages on what I hate about her.
Yet, I love her.
I love her, not just because I don’t have any other option rather
than to love her or not just because she is the one who has made me who I am
today. Rather, I love her for her rebelliousness.
Don’t you think it’s ironical?
How can my traditional mom become an unorthodox?
And, I swear to answer this as well I can dedicate several pages
of my notebook. But, I guess, only a part of her life would be enough to
justify her nonconformist nature.
My mom had always been interested in music. She had always
fantasized playing musical instruments, particularly Madal (Nepali folk musical instrument). Unfortunately, she got birth
in a very conservative family where a female playing a musical instrument was a
far cry when she wasn’t even sent to school just for being a female. She was
the one who went to school at the age of ten only for the reason that my
grandparents wanted someone to look after my paju (maternal uncle). Interestingly, my mom completed her
schooling in her early 20s when my paju dropped
out even before he reached his secondary level. We can only imagine what she
had to go through just to finish her school. However, she had to get married
just after that and again learning music was a catch 22 for her, juggling
between husband, children and in-laws.
***
I have never ever enjoyed bhajan. But
this Dashain, I contemplated over how bhajan
could be so creative and how moments could be entrapped in those verses.
Yes, it was my mom again forcing me to ponder over it. I was
amazed to see her happily playing madal
and singing bhajan written by
herself. I wondered how she was able to do that automatically.
My curiosity turned into astonishment when
she shared that she learned it looking at others playing them and with practice,
hell lot of practice.
She was so passionate that she bought a madal
for herself. Then joined a bhajan mandali
so that she could watch others playing them, observed minutely their hand
movements, and listened to the beats, come home and then practice.
Practice…Practice… and practice
 |
| At our thulo buwa's house, she irritates him everytime by asking him to teach her |
Whenever she had confusion she would ask for someone who is good
at it and learn.
She is yet to become a proficient madal player but when she was playing the beats and singing bhajan written by herself, I could see a
tigress enjoying her ferocity. I could observe the beauty of her victory over
her own fate and I could see an orthodox middle aged woman winning over her childhood
aspirations.
With her transformation on her late forties, when I am in my mid-twenties
yet again proved that I need to learn even from my traditional mom. She taught that
it's our willpower that will motivate us to work. It's our practice that
makes us perfect. It's our passion that will make us thrive for our odds.
Importantly if my mother can work for her passion in her sentility
independently, why can't we pace when we are in the prime of our life.
Dear mom, thanks for being a rebel.
Yes, thanks for giving me another reason for rebelling against all
your old philosophies of life when you yourself are in the journey of
transformation.
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