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A newborn child is devoid of memories -a bliss. It still might have feelings; strange occurrences inside the mind which communicates the events from the outside world to its inner self.
Well, I’m no psychologist. So let me not theorize this. But, still the child in our story surely did have some strange feelings inexplicable with the sophisticated language that he (rather all of us) possesses today. This should rather make us think about our “grown up selfs”. When it comes to expression, a kid has just a smile, a cry or a change in mood to convey itself. Yet, it conveys its little inexplicable inner self so efficiently to its mother. And why was just she, who alone was so adept in understanding it. Was it due to mere observation and care? May be, both might be the reason. Hence, there is one thing for sure “a mother is the best physicist in the world, if we limit the subject to the knowledge of her new born; the best linguist, who could read and understand a strange, scriptless and subtle language and its intricacies to the highest level”.
Let us talk about the feelings of our child or any child for that matter, if I can take the liberty to generalize. He was always overwhelmed by feelings; those which mesmerized him to an unknown world- the state which we call today as emotions. Emotions, which resonated with the “lullabies” in the voice of his mother and the sway of the cradle. It was the sweetest voice for him then. He did not know that others never considered his mothers’ voice as really sweet (she was no singer). He might have heard voices from radio, which he acknowledges as “really sweet” today. But it did not appeal a lot to him.
He was fascinated by the beats of “thrissur pooram” broadcasted live through AIR. No, he doesn’t actually remember at this point, that it did appeal to him then. It was told to him by elders that he used to sway his little hands along with the rhythm of ” panchvadyam at Ellajithara Melam” and “Madathil Varavu”. And that his maternal uncles used to take him on their shoulders to the temple festivals and he liked to be very close to the “melam” (band); that he liked that dark, giant still cute animal which was well ornamented . They told him that it was “aana “- the elephant. Also, the black thing with a beak, which hopped and flew away when disturbed , as ” kakka “- the crow. He could not pronounce or speak. Still, that conveyed a lot to him then. The meanings, which have now subsided into his second or third layer of memory.
Time moved on and events happened. Operation Blue Star was conducted. Mrs. Indira Gandhi was shot dead. A reckless, abominable and inhuman genocide was happening in the capital of his homeland , which was named as ‘Anti-Sikh riots’ later. He wasn’t aware of these things and never knew why such horrible things should happen when “big trees fell”. Quite reasonably, a little kid never knew anything (for good- he maintained innocence), but still felt a lot. He came to know about these incidents only in his later life.
The father of the child was working abroad in Oman (Muscat) then. People told him later that, on the day the news of Mrs Gandhi’s death broke up, there was a sudden vehicle strike and all shops were forcefully closed- ” a bhand “. Things did not go out of control in Kerala although. But our kid was eagerly waiting for his mother who had gone to her school (she was a high school teacher). He was crying. Perhaps overwhelmed by some feeling of insecurity when she did not turn up in the usual time. I can’t say what gave him the feel of time. Was it the sun, the weather or some unknown biological clock? It was for sure that he did not know how to find out time from a clock. Every one at home were in panic. He was staying in his maternal ancestral home. But she did come back, although quite late. Then he was once again wrapped by her warm hands; his symbol of security; the symbol, which he later realized as love.
It was only years later that he came to know what had happened. But even that was way before he could understand the “politics of a death and its aftermath ” as he understands now. No vehicles were plying through the roads. People were walking in groups to reach their homes; some had a long way to walk. She (his mother) had to walk almost eight kilometers. Then she got a lift for some distance. A consideration from one of her colleagues who knew that our little child would be crying without seeing her. No wonder, she too was a woman- a mother. It might be by instinct, that women can sense and respond quickly to such things better……….. I don’t know …… And the child in our story is yet to be a family man to feel it from the perspective of a father.
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Why have you stopped the good work?