O dear Maa - why must you still make me weep!
Happy Mothers Day to all mothers and their children!
Allah, Maa - these two relations were all that took shape on his tongue, in a feeble voice, in the midst of intolerable agony. My late grandfather was embroiled in his final stages of cancer at a hospital in Lahore, accompanied by his six sons and four daughters, as well as numerous grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Several other beautiful familial relations were by his side. His mother, however, had passed away within his youth, and a full eighty years after the event, in the twilight of his own life, motherhood was the only worldly bond my grandfather could recall. All other forms of human connection had perhaps receded into the background.
?By Allah’s mercy, my mother’s tireless efforts and prayers had a central role to play in my ability to achieve quality education and go beyond the village I grew up in. Owing to cultural oppression and prevailing social attitudes towards women’s education, my mother remained illiterate - and perhaps that is why she took her own children’s education extremely seriously.
?Most children in my village begin abandoning their education during the onset of their teenage years. I am not sure why: perhaps it is due to factors surrounding the age itself, or perhaps due to the difficulty of their studies suddenly amping up during those years - maybe both. This was especially the case with children whose parents were unable to attend to them on account of numerous economic stresses.
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?In line with this tradition, I, too, began avoiding school in the seventh grade. My excuses were of a typical variety: headaches, stomach ailments, tooth pain, and so on. Had my mother not taken drastic corrective action at this time - that is, complaining to my father who himself was far too occupied with his farming responsibilities - I would’ve been yet another child among thousands of those deprived of basic education.
?My mom never raised a hand on me, and never raised her voice at me, either. For as long as she was alive, her gentle demeanor towards me was the source of my happiness, my patience, and all my smiles.
?Alas, around 18 years before today, she departed for her final journey, and despite the passage of nearly two decades in between, the memory of her passing brings tears to my eyes and fills my heart with aching sorrow. Why does my mother still make me weep? Perhaps she is the only one who could adequately comprehend this sentiment.