In one of my Master's courses, we are talking of story telling and social memory.
As the Elder now, for the little ones and my own siblings, this is more than just a curricular outline: I find myself sifting through the childhoods of the three as well as my own, as what I saw then was through the eyes of a 7 year old or a 10 year old or being the age I was when that particular event happened.
Sometimes, when they tell me a memory they have or an assumption about a certain thing being this way or that, they ask me to confirm it. I go along with it, although I remember otherwise. Far be it from me to shake the foundation of what they have constructed in their memories of a life that changed all too soon.
As the Elder now, for the little ones and my own siblings, this is more than just a curricular outline: I find myself sifting through the childhoods of the three as well as my own, as what I saw then was through the eyes of a 7 year old or a 10 year old or being the age I was when that particular event happened.
Sometimes, when they tell me a memory they have or an assumption about a certain thing being this way or that, they ask me to confirm it. I go along with it, although I remember otherwise. Far be it from me to shake the foundation of what they have constructed in their memories of a life that changed all too soon.
I am asked " Do you remember what time I was born?" or "What had happened then?" And I have either to break it to them that at that young age, I was too excited by the arrival of a sibling to register the time and later lived on thinking that someone else will remember for sure. And that they'd be there forever.
Yet, that is not so. And as we wept over not knowing her birthtime, days after her younger daughter was born, my sister promised that she would tell her older daughter what her own and her sister's birth time was and insisted that I do the same for my children. " So someone remembers" she said, not stating the obvious "After you and I are gone"- in my culture it is deeply ingrained not to invoke Fate by stating what you do not wish to happen yet.
So what do I do now? I sift through what I remember. I ask my siblings if their 6 year olds have an email address. I ask if I may write to them about what is going on in my life or tell them about the times, I spent with them 2,3,4 years ago when Amma was with us and I went to Mumbai often.
I know that with the financial constraints and time differences, also the sheer soul-weariness of going back to houses that have redecorated their insides to accommodate for Amma's absence, I am not going back soon.
As I learn to move from Spring to Fall without expecting to board a flight in between, as I learn to make do with Skype on weekends when we have the time or to wistfully gaze at WorldTime on my iPhone, I am learning to root my heart where my feet are. In doing so, I am finally, 10 years since coming to this new land, seeing new promise of home.
As I learn to move from Spring to Fall without expecting to board a flight in between, as I learn to make do with Skype on weekends when we have the time or to wistfully gaze at WorldTime on my iPhone, I am learning to root my heart where my feet are. In doing so, I am finally, 10 years since coming to this new land, seeing new promise of home.
Then why does my vision blur as I write this. Because I am making up a story that I want to believe in and even as I write it, I know that it is not true. Naigaum, Dadar, Mumbai 14 will always be home.
No comments:
Post a Comment