Happy Birthday, Genesis

If you are reading this, there is a high chance- you know me. If you know me, most probably we have had a conversation. Did I bring my mom up? In my conversation? Maybe yes, maybe no. If yes, you know her by that conversation, and if no, you will read about her today. Where? Here. Now.

It's her birthday and I could not just send a text to her, saying happy birthday. It is crazy how I brag about her to the world, and when it is the time to tell her the same thing, I cannot. And even if I do, she listens and makes it a very normal conversation. She says, ‘Yes, that’s how it is. It’s not a big deal.’ Sometimes I want to tell her that it is! Not everyone could stand against the high tides of life and come out of it, with contentment, saying “I did my best, and that is what that matters for now, isn’t it?” I could not help but agree with it. Because that is life. If we start to stop glorifying the ideal and simply accept the real, it would be much easier to live.

I remember how once she mentioned, “This might look very brave to you, and you must be wondering about it, overwhelmed by the thought of how you will do it when you have to. Trust me, it is all about time. You get used to it.” Now that I think of that, it makes sense, all of it. I started writing when I was in school. Back then, going to an open mic/ open poetry session was a big deal. Getting featured on YouTube, Instagram or Facebook was another big thing. Once I came to know about a similar opportunity. It was supposed to happen in Patna, some 120 km away from my hometown. Without analyzing the factors, I immediately jumped to write my first four-page poetry. Since it was supposed to be my first open mic, I wanted it to be on a special topic. I wrote about Mom. I don’t tell her often, but during my difficult stages, apart from talking to her, I think of her. “What Maa would’ve done?” That’s how half of my troubles go away, the rest are a mixture of talking to my people and obviously ranting about it to Di.

Last night Chandu Mama gave me an idea of flying to her, but this is all that I planned, Mamu. From decorating the kitchen on your birthdays to writing this piece to let you know, I am proud of being a part of you. All I want to say is Happy Birthday, Maa.

I never went to the open mic, but I have still preserved the poem. An excerpt of the poem I composed for her, and tried to hide from her in the shelves of books, is below. But Maa being Maa, discovered it and started reading it out loud. One beautiful moment, closest to my heart.

If you happen to like a part of me, trust me, it comes directly or indirectly from her.

Until the next spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,

Shreya.