The Deeper Voice

And just like that

Your voice deepened

No more that of a little boy

But more of a young man

The cracking of anything marks new eras

New seasons

Growth

It also marks endings

The cracking of a seed

Of an egg

Of dawn

The ending of the prior, the beginning of the future 

I hope you never forget that your voice is a privilege, a gift, a tool to communicate

Don't weaponize it through silence, loudness or unkindness

I hope you remember that your voice has the power to reassure, comfort, inspire

It also has the power to hurt, terrorize and disrespect. 

Use your power to empower, not to disempower

When given a choice to be right or kind

I pray you choose to be kind.

The deepest wounds are through words spoken in ego and anger

Raise your voice only for justice, to speak out against wrong, for the rights of those that are vulnerable 

Your strength as a human , as a man will lie in raising your words and actions ; never your voice

Measure the distance between your actions and your words. It should never be much. Too much distance between words and actions is where manipulation, contradictions and hypocrisy flourish.

I hope the only voice that is loud and dominating in you is your inner voice that always guides you towards your divine self and to the Divine....

With loving whispers,

Mama

Sept 2023

Summer Letter for My Sons

I see you running freely in your grandparent's gardens. Without a worry, the wind caressing your soft cheeks. The dog giving you company and companionship like no other.

I see you climbing tress. Experiencing Nature in such intimate ways , holding onto branches with such agility and zest. I hope you hold onto the wisdom of trees with the same passion. They teach us the power of staying grounded,  of standing your ground, of laying your roots, of giving and giving and then giving some more. Of standing tall, of hosting, of grace.

We take our grandparent's homes for granted. We pompously assume these homes will always exist to host us, to welcome us, to indulge us, to give us comfort. We feel entitled to their hospitality.

We think our Uncles, aunts ,cousins from different parts of the world will always be cooped up in bedrooms and living rooms with countless cups of teas being served and warm snacks being presented. We are too young to remember and appreciate the youth of our elders.

I see old pictures and am in awe of how youthful, well dressed and beautiful the elders were in their youth. How fashionable our Khalas were with their radiant choice of colors before they moved to the more nude and pastel side of the color palette. How much charisma exuded from our younger Mamoo who till now is lovingly called "Chotha" but is a Dada himself. What elegance and confidence with which our phupos draped their sarees as their brothers looked handsome dressed in crisp shirts. We think who we see now was always this frail, this bland, this quiet. They were so much much more.

I look at old pictures and now notice the finer details like how artistic my parent's home was. How the plants were grouped together at varying heights with the right amount of light to make them shine. How beautiful the rugs were, how shiny my mom's exquisite silver collection was, how she hosted countless people with grace and poise, how elegant the dinner parties were  that she hosted,  how my parent's friends had not just brilliant minds but also were great souls. We forget all this or we take it for granted till you get older yourself.

I see my mom now waiting to get on the escalator, waiting for the right moment, the right step. It reminds me of my hesitation on first climbing an escalator as a 6 year old.  Almost like we are waiting for it to slow down just enough for us to take that monumental step.  I remember how my mother held my hand and got me on. I feel life coming full circle when now I hold her hand and get her on. We both have learned that the escalator like life and youth doesn't slow down or adjust its pace for our age or stage of life. We just have to be that person to each other that gives us the hand, the confidence ,the  comfort and the company to get on and seamlessly continue the conversation that was happening before the hesitation of the escalator.

I see old letters family and friends have written to me and my parents. How with age, with time, our letters and conversations  become shorter. It seemed that before  there was not enough paper to hold the sender's voluptuous emotions, stories and sentences . Words were bursting from the seams of letters, ended with words of affection, signed with sincerity. Now, the silence in many relationships seems to be bursting with unsaid words, unexpressed emotions, and signed with disillusion and judgement.

All I can hope is that immerse yourself in the moment with the same grip that you hold onto tree branches with and that you cherish these simple moments. They are not just moments but rather historic moments being written in your story, in your history, chapters in your biography.

I hope your chapters are focused more on what others have done for you rather than what all they didn't do. I pray that your pages emanate giving, loving and forgiving.  I hope I'm able to pass on the invaluable gift my parents gave me of only remembering the best times in relationships and drowning out everything unpleasant in the ink of compassion and understanding.  It is this unique gift that I rarely see around me. It is this gift that seperates the grateful from the entitled,  the givers from the takers, the happy from the unhappy.

Love,
Mama
Dehradun
July 2022
With rain in the background.....

Mothers, Sons and Faith

 

I wonder how many sleepless nights she endured
Or how much her hands trembled when placing her baby boy in treacherous waters or maybe they didn't because of her sacred bond with God.

I am starting to understand that single mothers like Musa's and Isa's were divinely strengthened so they don't feel "sad" or  "afraid".

The irony that the same waters that took Musa towards Pharoah were the same waters that eventually drowned him and were miraculously parted to get Musa to safety

Through the stories of Musa and Isa, I see how it's the mothers that God first blesses with faith before they can raise faithful, honorable men

How beautiful that God comforts Maryam during her painful labor and Musa's mother after she is seperated from her baby boy by saying the same words " Don't grieve".

God's promise to a distraught and anxious mother that He will reunite her with her Musa to comfort her heart and to Maryam that she will be leader of the women of faith
Maybe a lesson to learn that a woman's honor only comes from her relationship with the Divine

May we have the strength,  courage and faith of these mothers to raise men with the strength,courage and faith of Musa and Isa

Both sons of single mothers ....

Hiba
May 2023

At Home

 

I left when my yearning for home grew larger than my desire to be where I was

I just wanted to go home, to be home, to feel at home

Not an external home, I wanted to be home with myself again

I had missed myself more and more with each passing year of this union

I felt more and more distant from myself with each conversation, each infraction, each violation 

As I battled the waters of this marriage, trying to keep this marriage afloat; somewhere in the distance , I was becoming someone I had always yearned to love and be loved by

I was this abundant ,exuberant spring of light, optimism, compassion, strength and hope.

And so ,I abandoned the ship that was destined to sink. 

I freed myself from this weight that I was carrying alone

And I decided to go home 

Home to where I'd find a stronger, happier version of me

I missed myself and just wanted to be with myself again 

With a cup of tea, wrapped in a shawl, hugged by strength, caressed by zest

I just wanted to be home, home with myself. 

Never again to make the mistake of building and seeking my home in another...

HT

April 2023

Basking in Winter

 

It's you that everyone is stopping to admire
Your beauty, your blossom

They convince us of the glory of Spring
How beautiful it is to give, and give
But your real season will be your Winter
When you will be free, minimal, proud to stand bare.
Don't rush for Spring, Winter is your divine time to rest, renew and revive.
But, no one ever tells you that.

I have had my season of blooming and blossom
I have birthed enough springs for others
I want to bask in the peace of my Winter
Of being nothing, of having nothing, of birthing nothing

And from now on,
I will decide when my Winter will end, who is worthy of my Spring and when it's time to fall

Hiba
March 2023

The Eyes that Gave Birth...

 I look in the mirror

And though I love who I see

It's my eyes that make me pause

They look so clear

Clearer than ever before

No longer decorated by illusions

Or accentuated by false promises

Or outlined by society's dark expectations 

I have never seen them like this

They appear barren 

Devoid of a lot 

But no longer pregnant with tears and expectations 

It's as if my eyes have finally given birth

After carrying a burden for so long 

They have seen enough 

Sadly, they were never seen enough 

Never looked into

Only shown how invisible I was

I will do for my eyes what I have done in my relationships

Offer them grace 

Hold for them space

To grieve

To rest

But never again to make the mistake

Of unseeing what someone shows you of themselves

Of shrinking myself to fit another's vision

Hiba

Jan 2023

How the Teacup Meets the Wood

 With a tremble, sometimes

With a dash of shakiness
With whiffs of unsteadiness

How the teacup meets the wood
This meeting is so revealing of age, stage and phase of life

In youth, the teacups are drank with more speed
Put down with more fervor
Picked up again and sipped  with more confidence
The arrogance of youth and plenty of time left

In old age, they are sipped with more intention
With more patience,  each sip is experienced more fully
The sugar felt, the temperature judged, the taste deciphered
Maybe because with age, you are never sure if the teacup will meet the wood again ....

Hiba
Dehradun
July 2022
Visits to my mother's friends