My son
At midnight on January 25, 2015, my mind’s animated with so much of you that sleep may be elusive tonight. Happy birthday, my son. Today, you turn fifteen, and as I hug to wish you – our 15-year-old tradition – there’s not much that I could add to what I’ve said to you many times before, making this a mere repetition, insufficient to cover the gamut of emotions whose start-end is identical: you’re my heart, my son, and there’s no me without you. My life was reset to 0:0 when I had you. Today’s merely another occasion for me to cut your birthday cake with you – another 15-year-old tradition – and to attempt to do what I feel I do very little, and not enough. To thank you. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being my son. And thank you for being the son who’s everything I could wish a son to be. And more.
Where do I begin? From your baby toothless smiles, your mischievous laughter, your teenaged dimpled grins, your full-of-life chuckles. Your sparkling eyes, your wavy hair (always messy), your skinny frame. Your spontaneous hugs, your big, sloppy kisses, your tiny (now as big as mine) hand clasping mine, tightly. When distraught, tears as big as raindrops wet your face, but as I held you tight, promptly your smiles returned, and your laughter rang loud. Once upon a time! There’re never any fits that last long, and the sullenness is transient. Whenever I called your name, you came running to me. And you still do. No matter what you’re doing, what mood you’re in. I may not see you for hours, but I know you’re a call/shoutaway.
How despite being pampered to bits as an only child, you listen to me without a question. How despite being mentally independent, you seek my advice happily. Your unshakeable bond with your father, your consistent love and respect for him. How you refer to your cousins, Areeba and Zain, as your siblings. How despite your constant bickering with Zain, you two are BFFs. When I yell at you – some day, I’ll learn not to – the sulking’s instant, but you’ve never rejected my sorry. Now your hugs are fewer, shorter, but as spontaneous as ever. And those rare times, when your show of insensitivity toward my real or imagined hurt makes me all teary-eyed, the look on your face breaks my heart. The pain in your eyes when you see me hurt makes me forget my own pain, and accepting there’s nothing worse than to see you in pain, I wipe my tears, and your hug brightens my smile.
Your sassy sense of humour, irrepressible, infectious but never offensive. And how I groan at your infinite store of trivia…the curse/gift of a great memory! While your procrastination drives me nuts, your single-minded focus, once you set your mind on something, is super cool. Your vocabulary’s impressive, and it matters to me. Your I-know-it-all is exasperating, your arguments multidimensional, but your smile when you know you’re wrong makes it all work. Being a real extrovert, your contentment at being alone is extraordinary. While you get along with everyone, there’re only few you call your friends. Your friendships last.
Your utter fearlessness is my genetic gift to you but time’s made me chicken-ish, and you challenge that. Our front-seat ride on Formula Rossa was my best summer moment, thank you! (I still roll my eyes thinking of your seven rides!) Darkness didn’t scare you but Chucky did for a while! Your childhood love-relationship with PlayStation remains intact, the-losing-all-idea-of-time-with-the-PScontroller-in-your-hand syndrome. Cartoons remain your pet TV-watching, an endearing habit in my as-tall-as-me boy. My IT guru…you made me Apple savvy!
You love school! How when I mumble some mornings, “Skip school?” (bad me!), you shush me instantly. Your excellence in maths, appreciation of literature, fascination with science. And your two MUNs. Do you know what’s more important to me than your A-grades, honour rolls? That your teachers love you (ok, except for the world history chap!), and that you’ve never – and I mean never – had a real – verbal or physical – fight with anyone. And that the custodial, janitorial, security personnel like you. Indeed, your love for drama, debate, writing, art is as significant as your passion for swimming, basketball, but what matters to me the most: you enter your school gate with a smile. And that smile, buoyed by your endless chatter (a genetic disorder, kiddo!) is what you take to your classrooms, your interactions with your friends, class and schoolfellows. And when I pick you up, your megawatt smile greets me, along with your first question: "Where’s my chocolate, mom?"
My son, thank you for being kind. To children, to the underprivileged, to the domestic staff, to all you know. Thank you for being non-judgmental. Thank you for listening to my problems, and giving me advice that makes me rethink things. Thank you for teaching me not to mope over losses. Thank you for assuming responsibility of the bad stuff you do, and saying sorry without being asked. Thank you for not using bad words despite being short-tempered.
Thank you for being truthful, for never lying (even when the consequence is unsavoury). Thank you for understanding without being taught there’s to be no discrimination in sexes. Thank you for your March 2013 tweet (yes, a precocious 13-year-old!): “I never understood why sexes needed an event to be respected or whatever...but anyways happy #womensday#IWD.” You question long-held religious beliefs most follow blindly. You say your moral code isn’t dependent on any religious teaching, that you believe in being good without the reminder of a reward. Thank you for reminding me not to be fixated on any “isms”. Thank you for stopping me from buying a $2500 Louis Vuitton when you didn’t even reach my shoulders: “Why do you need to buy this bag, Mama? Want people to see you and say how fancy you are?!”
Thank you for being brave when you fall sick, when your asthma worsens, when your fever shoots up. Thank you for smiling even when your body doesn’t match your spirit.
Thank you for being so appreciative of all you have materially and otherwise, and your smile on being handed a giant Cadbury Bubbly is as bright as the one when I bought you your second Xperia. Thank you for appreciating all I do for you (fine, I remind you very often too!), and pushing me to indulge myself. Thank you for getting hooked to Breaking Bad with me, and watching Frozen with me! Thank you for your very expressive writing – albeit you’re a reluctant writer - and your reawakened love for reading. Thank you for cracking me up singing in your cheekiest falsetto, and your mimicry of voices and accents. Thank you for being the perfect movie-watching companion (we both pause and rewind, no talking allowed during viewing!). Thank you for trying (in vain) to teach me dance moves, my little Hrithik Roshan! Watching you dance, I jump and join you as your moves have such fluidity and cheer. Thank you for making me a lovely card on my last birthday (although choosing pictures where I looked overweight was mean!).
Thank you for being there when I feel my heart’s about to break. How you read my silence, sense my moods, gauge my pain, and are just there for me. Thank you for reminding me nothing’s worth my tears, and nothing pains you more than to see me cry. Ergo, I don’t. Thank you for strengthening my heart so much that even in solitude the pain inside me slinks into a corner. Thank you for making sense when the world around me goes topsy-turvy, looking me in the eye, making me rethink my dilemmas and confusions. Whenever I feel I’m falling to pieces, your strength helps me refocus. I thank you, my son, for being my rock. Your love envelops my grief. How did you get to be so wise, so empathetic…I marvel.
Thank you, my son, for your hugs…the first and the last thing of your day. And mine.
And thank you for your constant thank-yous.
I could go on and on, but that I could word my feelings for you in a limited-length blog would be a fallacy of assumption. To tell you how I feel about you, I need a lifetime, and words to last a lifetime. The futility of encapsulating my love in words is apparent. To show my love for you, all I do is what I do best. Hug you. My love is my unsaid and all prayers for you. My love is watching you smile. My love is my life devoted to you. My love is watching you be you. My love is being your mother. You, my son, are the son I pray all mothers to have. And you, my son, is the reason why I…am.
I love you, Musa. Always. And I will love you even beyond always.