:) Chinky.
My dearest little one,
Surprised to find this? Well, don't be. I have grown up watching (and frankly, secretly laughing at) movies in which dying mothers have left their daughters a legacy of letters. I don't know where you are today as you read this but I want you to know that I can feel you swallowing down the words as if they were the most delicious and luscious crab meat soup ever. A mother's letter, it must be special, right? I never got one so I have an immense self-imposed expectation for it to be able to make it to your heart. Also, I hope you are not frowning over the 'little one'?
I want to tell you that I have mostly been a suicidal, emotional wreck and in spite of that I have loved you from the time you were not. I think it is rather special, to be loved before you come into being. So, if god forbid you too become one, remember that your mom survived it all having longed for and loved you. When you were only a toddler your curls were your greatest instrument in making me yield at the most difficult of your demands, beginning Tucker. Oh, that! Remember your mom survived a golden bark, just because she loves you. It was your convincing courage that gave me the confidence to get into our home a four-legged friend yet, I particularly disliked you sitting on Tucks as if he were your horse and subjecting the poor soul's ears to your steering pleasure. And just so you know your tantrums of tying a bow to Tucker's tail drove him and me crazy. Chinky, you must also know that we have been thrown out of most rented houses because you would go beyond the designated wall-space given to you and scribble and re-scribble with doting affection on the floors. I would often return from work to see you negotiating -- from behind your unmanageable curls -- with Tucks, your idea of an aquarium (complete with toothpaste blobs for bubbles) on the marbled, uncarpeted area of your room. How I repent not having been enough attentive to put my permanent markers under lock and key! I guess at those moments I was only doubly thankful to the greater powers that you were still not attracted to the kitchen knives.
Your stories are many and I remember most of them like they are my only living memories. It seems life is divided into two distinct chapters -- pre-Chinky and post-Chinky -- and we both know the favoured part. I write to you today so that you read it someday. In your now, my words might seem a thing of then. But then these very thens mould us into who we become. No, this ain't gonna be a letter on moral lessons to be passed on and ethics to be structured around. If anything, I have and would always encourage you to be open-minded and liberated to allow yourself to understand an other. I would want you to see the world like I have always wanted too and never be bothered about money. Chinky, if you are too consumed with ambition and earning, you will never have the time to love and learn. And trust me you, to learn and to love -- they have got to be the two most defining enjoyments of life. So what is it about? It is about letting go. Just like at this moment I do not know where exactly you are, and fondly miss the smell of shared oranges inside our jointly scribbled upon blanket as you would tell me a story, or graciously unfold how you spend your day, I know it is best not to cling on to that comfort. You are possibly the best thing that has happened to me, but I cannot contain your life just because of that, right?
Live Chinky, live like there is no tomorrow and forgive, for that benefits you with peaceful time to invest in things you prefer and love. I would, as is evident from the only time I am strict with you -- about your badminton classes -- however, only have this one request that is to keep yourself enjoyably fit and that happens only when you play a sport. Chinky, the spirit of sports is the best you can build to live a super-life! You will be healthy, and know healthy competition, and again learn the importance of letting go, for in the end, it was just a game.
Do you remember that question you had once posited at me, as I was battling through tremendous traffic and your constant fiddling with the car's radio channels -- 'Mom, what is art?' I don't remember the answer I had given, may be I had just given you your favourite tomato and cucumber sandwich instead. Honestly I was puzzled at how early you questioned me that. I will try and answer it today. Art is how you live your life, dearest. How beautifully you colour-up the odds and how attractively well-balanced your perspective is.
I know your attention has wavered by now, Chinky, so I will wrap up too. But even as I do, I want you to once again revel in the feeling that I am because you are. Live well!
All my love,
Mom.
My dearest little one,
Surprised to find this? Well, don't be. I have grown up watching (and frankly, secretly laughing at) movies in which dying mothers have left their daughters a legacy of letters. I don't know where you are today as you read this but I want you to know that I can feel you swallowing down the words as if they were the most delicious and luscious crab meat soup ever. A mother's letter, it must be special, right? I never got one so I have an immense self-imposed expectation for it to be able to make it to your heart. Also, I hope you are not frowning over the 'little one'?
I want to tell you that I have mostly been a suicidal, emotional wreck and in spite of that I have loved you from the time you were not. I think it is rather special, to be loved before you come into being. So, if god forbid you too become one, remember that your mom survived it all having longed for and loved you. When you were only a toddler your curls were your greatest instrument in making me yield at the most difficult of your demands, beginning Tucker. Oh, that! Remember your mom survived a golden bark, just because she loves you. It was your convincing courage that gave me the confidence to get into our home a four-legged friend yet, I particularly disliked you sitting on Tucks as if he were your horse and subjecting the poor soul's ears to your steering pleasure. And just so you know your tantrums of tying a bow to Tucker's tail drove him and me crazy. Chinky, you must also know that we have been thrown out of most rented houses because you would go beyond the designated wall-space given to you and scribble and re-scribble with doting affection on the floors. I would often return from work to see you negotiating -- from behind your unmanageable curls -- with Tucks, your idea of an aquarium (complete with toothpaste blobs for bubbles) on the marbled, uncarpeted area of your room. How I repent not having been enough attentive to put my permanent markers under lock and key! I guess at those moments I was only doubly thankful to the greater powers that you were still not attracted to the kitchen knives.
Your stories are many and I remember most of them like they are my only living memories. It seems life is divided into two distinct chapters -- pre-Chinky and post-Chinky -- and we both know the favoured part. I write to you today so that you read it someday. In your now, my words might seem a thing of then. But then these very thens mould us into who we become. No, this ain't gonna be a letter on moral lessons to be passed on and ethics to be structured around. If anything, I have and would always encourage you to be open-minded and liberated to allow yourself to understand an other. I would want you to see the world like I have always wanted too and never be bothered about money. Chinky, if you are too consumed with ambition and earning, you will never have the time to love and learn. And trust me you, to learn and to love -- they have got to be the two most defining enjoyments of life. So what is it about? It is about letting go. Just like at this moment I do not know where exactly you are, and fondly miss the smell of shared oranges inside our jointly scribbled upon blanket as you would tell me a story, or graciously unfold how you spend your day, I know it is best not to cling on to that comfort. You are possibly the best thing that has happened to me, but I cannot contain your life just because of that, right?
Live Chinky, live like there is no tomorrow and forgive, for that benefits you with peaceful time to invest in things you prefer and love. I would, as is evident from the only time I am strict with you -- about your badminton classes -- however, only have this one request that is to keep yourself enjoyably fit and that happens only when you play a sport. Chinky, the spirit of sports is the best you can build to live a super-life! You will be healthy, and know healthy competition, and again learn the importance of letting go, for in the end, it was just a game.
Do you remember that question you had once posited at me, as I was battling through tremendous traffic and your constant fiddling with the car's radio channels -- 'Mom, what is art?' I don't remember the answer I had given, may be I had just given you your favourite tomato and cucumber sandwich instead. Honestly I was puzzled at how early you questioned me that. I will try and answer it today. Art is how you live your life, dearest. How beautifully you colour-up the odds and how attractively well-balanced your perspective is.
I know your attention has wavered by now, Chinky, so I will wrap up too. But even as I do, I want you to once again revel in the feeling that I am because you are. Live well!
All my love,
Mom.
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