I was fortunate to have spent more number of years with her than anyone else expect my father (who surpasses me by only a few more years). Like her name, Kusum (meaning flower), she was delicate and beautiful, spreading happiness around her.
My mother died on her call of duty. She had traveled to her home town (allahabad) to save some lives and make some more beautiful.
Her last conscious act was about giving. She really was not capable of much else. She would give the best of herself to anyone she met. Even the stray cats and dogs that appeared at our door step were given with just as much dedication and love as she had for her grand daughters. She wouldn't retire till she made sure that food was kept out for the cats for the night.
People like my mother don't die they just go away to where they are needed more.
She was our link to our original homeland. Though my father came from the same place it was my mother who preserved these ties. Of late, these ties had begun to get weaker over the years with the passing on of many people of my mothers generation. Through undertaking this last journey of hers, she has retied the knot making it stronger than before.
I think she just wanted to go back to her people, her home. And even as we left her behind in the lap of the Ganga, struggling to make our way back to Pune, she had already arrived in the form of a beautiful lotus flower in our garden. How else could it have been? She just had to be back with her grand daughters.
On this visit she would tell her sister that I was her Guru that I had taught her many things. But in her passing she has taught me the biggest lesson I have ever learnt, that the only life worth living is one of giving.
I hope my own end, like hers, comes while I am still in the act of giving.
To all those for whom she meant much, I can only say 'I am sorry I couldn't get her back for you'.
