Parenting: A Purifying Experience!

My mom is no longer physically with us. And I have no regrets because I feel I loved her with every breath, with every heartbeat, while she was with me. She was unwell for a few years, and I did everything for her – from combing her hair to bathing her – from rubbing oil on her back to feeding her. I feel very complete about the relationship we shared for close to four decades of my life.

Truth be told, I was her softest spot, and her love for me was completely biased, irrational and divine. I carry her crazy love with me wherever I go. However, the one thing I do find myself often wishing for (I know the irrationality of it – but as if wishes are ever rational) is that I get one day to say thank you to her after I have become a mother. Athyasaa happened to me after her moving on – and as a mother, the way I value my mother is even more intensified, poetic, and even more fulfilling than ever. I wish I could tell her all that I am feeling.

It takes a lot to parent a child. I used to be in a different city almost every week, creating an impact through WoW, my company, in every way I could. I am a flow and love to be here, there, doing this and that. Anything that felt soul-fulfilling, I would jump into. And yet here I am, nine months pregnant and close to nine months of caring for our daughter – I barely step out. I take one-off breaks when I need them, and my father and Arun wholeheartedly support me, along with our wonderful staff, whom I feel blessed to have.

But I can no longer just take off. One would think that would make me feel confined – but how do I express the feeling of fulfilment? It’s not about the big things but the little things. Feeding her every meal with my own hands unless it is absolutely necessary to step out. Planning every meeting or outing in a way where it’s done while she is napping. I feel like when she wakes up, she should see me. Long back, I heard a Rabindra Nath Tagore quote, which read something like this: Love is when an infant wakes up from its afternoon nap, sees her mother, smiles, and goes back to sleep. And that’s what I want to be for Athyasaa.

I read to her, though she prefers chewing books. I talk to her, and she responds with coos. If she is unwell, I do get into tears sometimes, and she quietly holds my finger as if reassuring me that she is okay. For hours, I have her in my lap and simply watch her sleeping face, wanting to somehow protect her even in her dreams.

Just a week ago, I had a splitting headache because I had pulled some neck muscle while doing yoga. I knew I needed to rest it out. No matter what happened, I promised myself I would not get up for one hour. And then her cry came from outside. I knew all was well. I knew it was just an expression and told myself not to get up. I lasted for all of eleven seconds! The second “waaahhhh” and I bolted. I have no explanation for this love. Or, this me.

Arun is the most incredible dad. He simply melts watching Athyasaa, and even the simplest gesture from her makes this 6’3 footer giggle like a little child. They have some daddy-daughter bond, which is sacred, and I simply allow them to blossom in the space they have created for themselves, which is sometimes beyond me. A man who could not function with even a little less sleep today waits to see his daughter smile and stays up till whatever time she needs him. He’s so much softer, so much more tender, and she draws something so divine from him.

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I wonder why parents do what they do. I have never processed a single thought of what I want Athyasaa to do for me, and I am sure neither did my parents. Or you, if you are a mother or a father. We want to love our little ones because they are a part of us – the most sacred part of us – that we will leave behind. Athyasaa will be my proudest legacy, and I want the best of everything for my baby and for her to be someone who spreads the bliss of love and abundance of all things good wherever she goes.

To anyone who feels there is no love left in the world – go sit in a park or a beach and watch a parent with their child. The way the eyes shine, the soft smiles – the subtle pride, the feeling: here is the most beautiful part of me, in the form of my child, and I will give it a life far greater than I have imagined. If this is not love, what is?

I believe it is this love that keeps the equilibrium of the world intact. The love that a parent feels for their child, one that asks for nothing and only wishes to give everything it has.

To every beautiful parent out there, thank you. How will we ever tell our children, what did we go through at 2 am one night when they had a fever or when we first held them? What words will we use to describe to them what we went through when those babbles suddenly became mumma or dada? Or when, for the first time, they jumped out of a stranger’s arms into ours to find a cocoon, letting us know that from being just a caregiver, they suddenly recognise us as “mother” and “father.”

All we can do is smile at one another, at our shared experience of being parents, of the sleepless nights and lullabies, the soft tender feelings and fierce protective love, of wanting to kiss our child and say, “Take what you want, become everything you can be, I am right here, watching over you!” And know this in the deepest part of us: parenting is probably one of the most purifying experiences we will ever know.