My mother was a subtle discipliner. Whenever I went down the wrong road, she would quietly nudge me back to where I belonged. When I tried smoking cigarettes and I thought I had covered my tracks, she asked me to change my clothes before my father came home because she could smell the smoke. Or in Grade 4, when I ate bacon and hot dogs at a friends house, later that evening when we went grocery shopping, my mother threw everything pork-related into the cart. I cried all the way home with guilt. And when my fiancee called one day and my mother picked up the phone, I found out, after she had died, that she had had a conversation with him.
Squeeze me?
She knew the entire time of his existence. And one day, when I wasn't home, she answered the phone and flat out asked if he was my friend, even though he had not spoken a word. When he conceded, she had a pleasant conversation with him. She did not reprimand him or ask anything about the nature of our friendship but she finished their neutral discussion saying this: "I am her mother. But she is her father's daughter. So I am not the person to impress. You have my blessing as long as YOUR mother knows." She swore him to secrecy but when she had passed away, he told me the whole story.
I spent the next few days trying to analyze her dream. The times I saw her at night were getting fewer and fewer. But when she came to me, there was always a reason. This was the first time I sensed her unhappiness. Usually she would try to lift my spirits. What did she want me to stop? She had already given her blessing. What was she trying to tell me? Why was she warning me? I decided not to tell anyone about my dream.
Ironically, as I walked around in a frustrated daze, trying to interpret her message, my father's demeanor had changed and he was in a great mood. When he came home from work, he insisted we take long walks after dinner. I obliged for two reasons: one to gauge his feelings towards my impending engagement and second to cement my plans moving forward. We set out one particular warm, breezy evening. As we were walking, my father reminisced about my birth.
"When you were born, you lit up our lives. That is why I gave you this name. It means, light of a candle. It had taken over a year to adjust to this country and it was a dark road, especially for your mother. But when you came into our lives, we were complete and you guided us. Now I am here to guide you."
I pondered over what he said in silence. He continued. "When you get married, you will understand what I mean and it will be your turn to start off on that dark road." I stopped walking but my father continued ahead of me without stopping.
"What do you mean, when I start that dark road? Why is it dark?" I had to run to catch up with him. Without looking at me and still staring straight ahead, he made a statement, disguised as a question. "But you really don't know him. You think you do but young hearts can be deceived." I stopped walking again.
"That's not fair, Dad. You are judging without knowing all the facts. You don't know what I know. And from what I know, I think I am making the right decision!" My father continued walking but slowered his pace. I stood still on the sidewalk. My father stopped ahead as well. He turned around so we were facing each other. I folded my arms in front of me and raised my eyebrow. As I watched him, my father raised his palms up towards the sky. "Only He knows better." He turned around and started walking back home. I followed slowly, about ten paces behind him. He did not slow down nor did I increase my pace. We walked like this all the way home.
When he reached the front door, he turned to me and asked, "Does your mother come to you in your dreams?" I abruptly stopped in my tracks, with my mouth hanging open.
"She always looked beautiful in her saris," he smiled wistfully. And with that, he walked in and closed the door as I stood shaking on the porch.
Checkmate.
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