memories – Ankahi. Unsaid.

memento mori माँ की किताबें

August 30, 2026August 30, 2026Posted in DelhiTagged 2026, Books, death, Gita, Ma, Memento_Mori, memoriesLeave a comment

गुज़रा वक़्त और माँ की किताबें

कमरे बुहारने और अलमारी के शेल्फ़ दराज़ साफ करने से खोई हुई चीज़ तो शायद मिल जाए पर गुज़रा वक़्त और पूरी हो चुकी माँ कहां मिलती है – कितना भी खोज लो – वो जो एक बार गई सो गई – ढूंढते रहो, बुलाते रहो फिर – अब ना आने वली वो ।

सूने, खाली कमरे में अपनी ही आवाज गूँज कर वापस लौट आती है और फिर नज़र आती है मुस्कुराती हुई तस्वीर जो दीवार से पूरे घर का मुआयना कर रही है। घबराहट में मैं इधर-उधर देखने लगता हूँ आंखें मलते हुए नीची कर लेता हूँ और फिर एक और ठंडी सांस ले रोज़मरा के फ़िज़ूल कामों में लग जाता हूँ। माँ के पलंग के साथ वाली दो साइड टेबल के नीचे माँ की अपनी किताबों का ज़खीरा बाहर निकाला गया। ये वो किताबें हैं जिन्हें माँ हफ्ते-दस-दिन में पढ़ती और दोहराती रहती – बाकी किताबें पढ़ने के बाद उनकी लाइब्रेरी के शेल्फ में बेसमेंट में चली जाती है। ये सब किताबें उनके हाथ की पहुंच में रहने से उन्हें एक तसल्ली रहती थी।

माँ को गुजरे चार महीने हो चले हैं । इन सब किताबों को झाड़ कर कल साफ किया गया। वैसे तो सब बेहतरीन किताबें हैं पर इनमें दो ज़रूरी किताबें हैं – एक है गुरुमुखी लिपि, यानि पंजाबी, की गीता और दूसरी कबीर रचनावली। आप देख सकते हैं कि गीता की जिल्द पूरी तरह से खुलने लगी है जिसे कल मैंने अपने हाथों से दुरुस्त कर दिया (हाँ, मुझे जिल्दसाज़ी आती है) दूसरी वाली के भी पन्ने खुल कर बिखर रहे थे तो वो भी धीरज से एक एक पन्ना इकट्ठा कर ठीक की गई।

इनमें से पंजाबी की गीता ज्यादा जरूरी है, इस के लिए नहीं कि वो “गीता” है, इसलिए कि वो किताब मेरी नानी चंद्रावती ग्रोवर ने मेरी माँ को दी थी। पंजाबी की ये गीता सन 1941 में अमृतसर की छपी है – यकीनन नानी ने लाहौर या झंग में खरीदी होगी (अब लकीर के उस पार) । नानी को गुरुमुखी और उर्दू पढ़नी आती थी, हिंदी और अंग्रेजी नहीं। शायद ये माँ के दहेज़ में आई होगी या फिर शादी के बाद माँ को किसी खास मौके पर मिली होगी। मोटे अक्षरों में छपी 216 पन्ने वाली इस गीता की कीमत कुल ढाई रुपये है। इसकी जिल्द पर चिपकी रंगीन तस्वीर देख कर यकीन नहीं होता कि आज से 85 साल पहले भी ब्लॉक से इतनी खूबसूरत रंगीन छपाई हो सकती थी। खाली हाथ जाने वाला कुदरत का उसूल गलत है। और कुछ साथ जाए या ना जाए किताबें साथ जरूर जानी चाहियें । माँ कितना मिस करती होगी इन किताबों को ।

A death leaves behind a physical and emotional architecture that the living must navigate. Things, even memories, left behind by the one who has gone is the memento mori for the survivors.

Ma and my school

July 9, 2026July 9, 2026Posted in Art, Delhi, For Children, Ma, MusingsTagged childhood, discipline, Fear, Ma, memories, schoolLeave a comment

Ma escorted me to school ‘only’ on days when one of my shenanigans crossed the limits of discipline and I had to be reprimanded by everyone, including her. Recalling conversations with Ma, Rajni made this poignant pencil drawing of the most gentle human connection: a bond of trust and protection that she conveyed every time she held my hand irrespective of my mischiefs. Who will accompany me to school now that Ma has been gone?

Ma escorting me to school, as visualised by Rajni

Suratgarh sojourn

June 21, 2026Posted in Culture and Heritage, Ma, Mommy, Mother, Of Family & FriendsTagged 2026, family, fiction, life, Love, Ma, Massi, memories, rajasthan, Sisters, Suratgarh, writingLeave a comment

Sisters share more than just the mother – they share memories, morsels and mirth. As sisters age together they share bodily pains and aches, develop identical creases on their faces and near-similar throbbing blue veins under wrinkled skins in which the biological code of generations is embedded. Well past their nineties, sisters start looking like identical twins with similar, puzzling faces. Their toothless smiles and groggy grunts sound so much alike that their own children can confuse one for the other. When they huddle together with faces covered, their own sons falter in picking the Mother from the Massi.

Only when I looked closely did I find that my massi had slightly broader nails on her long dainty fingers. Ma’s fingernails were naturally manicured into perfect rounded shapes, she rarely filed them, rounded the tips or even applied nail enamel. Earlier in life Ma would chew nails when anxious.

Having lost my mother six weeks ago, I am here in Suratgarh to see my Massi who is Ma’s immediate older sibling. Having been privy to their phone calls, thrice a day for over two decades, I can vouch that the attachment between two sisters who lived past ninety is a rare, beautiful masterpiece shaped by nearly a century of shared existence. Their connection transcends words, relying on a silent, comforting telepathy built over nine decades. They are living mirrors for one another, anchoring each other to reality and providing a unique comfort that nobody else can duplicate. Massi threw up her hands and cried for an hour upon seeing me. It was very difficult to control her and I wanted her to pour out the grief.

Ma and Massi shared a private universe of memories (from Jhang, Lahore, Rohtak and Patna), remembering the same childhood home, their parents, and the trials of the Partition era that we have only read about in history books. For years their bond provided an unmatched sense of emotional security, offering each other a safe harbour where they could be themselves: ‘Sisters Without Pretense’.

Meeting Sarla Massi was something I owed my mother and myself—a plan that couldn’t materialize because of Ma’s detriorating health. Meeting her favourite nephew (me), massi is at peace and I too feel at peace when I stand in front of Ma’s photo. ‘Ma, we met her, Sarla auntie is fine.’ In this poignant picture from the 50s, the sisters share a special moment with their Mom, my Nani, Chandravati. And the other picture is of Sarla auntie and her hands from a few days ago. This is the last piece of our Suratgarh sojourn.

Memento Mori

June 8, 2026Posted in Art, Ma, Mommy, MotherTagged 2026, Dentures, Ma, memoriesLeave a comment

This is a new Paperweight. It will weigh heavily on my heart until I live. That’s precisely what it is supposed to do and vibe every time I look at it or hold it in my hand. This is my Memento Mori. This reminds me how helpless a senior or elderly person feels when their denture no longer fits as their jaw and body shrink. A child’s toothless smile may be something people talk about but it feels terrible when a lady looks at herself in private, in the mirror. This must remind me that without teeth or a denture, one salivates less-and-less, which in turn means one cannot enjoy or even properly taste food. This must drive home the point that without this fitted in the mouth there is no chewing, even of semi-solids. This is Ma’s denture. Ma left without this, she hadn’t used it for the last four months of her life… Since I couldn’t discard it this adds to my memory of hers. This, her lower denture, now a piece of art created collectively by the four of us, is set in epoxy. This has Ma’s name etched on it under the left molar.

Ma's dentures which she couldn't use during the last four five months of her life — oplus_1048608

Daddy

July 29, 2025July 29, 2025Posted in Delhi, Of Family & FriendsTagged anniversary, Daddy, death, memoriesLeave a comment

It’s been 17 years since.

By the time I reached home he was dead. Traces of white still there on the right side of his face – under the jaw and on his neck. He had finished shaving half his face, the other half still with the stubble of the day before shining in dried shaving cream. He was lying on the warm cement floor with nothing under his head; must have been put there by the neighbours who were standing around him. I didn’t like it and wanted to put him on the settee where he would snooze in the afternoons. That July was much warmer, no rains that year. Sitting in a corner, mother was delirious and wailing. Grief is a river, it must run, I didn’t console her. The neighbourhood doctor, still by his side, got up and held my hand offering condolences. That morning of July 29th I had driven like a maniac only with the hope I would be able to say, ‘Bye Dad’. But no, like always he was in a hurry.

Photo: Daddy (in black jacket) posing for a photo from the jharokha of his house in Lahore. Don’t miss the beautiful cinquefoil arch at the entrance to the house (bottom left) and the lotus on it. The lakhori brick structure has stayed in tact for over 85 years since its construction.