The famous George Elliot said-“Life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face”. To which I would like to add, that the peace, the inner calm and purity that was so conspicuous in her expression, haunts me even twelve years after my mother has gone. And there is something about Yangon that brings back memories of her piousness, kindles a desire to follow a spiritual path similar to hers. Is it the people, the peace inspiring pagodas, something else about Yangon, or just my love for my mother?
She visits me in my dreams, and I search for her on the roads. When I see someone look fondly at me I wonder, if its her soul in another physical form. Because no one can love as much as a mother. Her smiling face, her endless wait for me to return home, her ageing frame as she waved while my train moved away… haunt me even now. I wish I had told her what she meant to me…I wish I had been a better daughter. If only I had known the emptiness of a world without her, if only I could have held on to her for longer. Death is so final and that one unchangeable reality which changes us forever.
She lives on in spirit, her voice continues to ring in my ears, her gentle ways and her desire to see well dressed children, makes me smile. As I grow older, I understand her stance better, the wisdom behind her actions and her ability to care for her family.
I am told that souls are immortal, and she is perhaps back in this world…if only there was a way to know that she is happy, and that she is loved…the way her three children loved her…