AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
Kavita Chhibber - December 15, 2005
A soulful tribute by a daughter to a love that spanned over five decades
I was going to post this tomorrow but thought there is no time like the present to celebrate love. This beauftiful piece was written by Kaveetaa Kaul and is on the latest issue of my online mag.
I'm happy to be sharing it with you. For some reason I was unable to upload the picture. It kept chopping up the content in half.
"Going back into the recesses of my mind, a voice emerges, amidst an expectant hush. It soars, clear and lucid, singing a song, resonant with melody. The lyrics were so romantic:”sau saal pehle, mujhe tumse pyaar tha... aaj bhi hai, aur kal bhi rahega...” (I have loved you for a 100 years, continue to do today and will love you tomorrow and forever). A shy little girl, all of five years of age, too young to understand the rarity of this display was overcome and ran away from the room. But nobody noticed nor did they care. What was unfolding was a treat to watch. The young girl peeped in again. What had come over Papa? Expressing his love for mama for all to see, even after 20 years of marriage.. Then, there was a deafening applause and now Mama continued. Now they were cutting the cake, amidst a sea of smiling faces, laughter, mirth, camaraderie, at its best. Papa and mama together, and a multitude of friends. It was December 11th, their wedding anniversary.
The little girl was me and I got to hear the original song of love much later.
Today is December 4th, a year since my father passed away. We all idolize our parents, but mine were truly unique. My sadness and tears multiply tenfold on seeing my mother without the tall, stately figure of my father, by her side. She is just under 5 feet tall and Papa was a six footer. Mama was 17 when they got married. She had hair that reached a little above her ankles, and beautiful doe shaped eyes. Papa was so enamored by her that only a day before the wedding he realized that she was so petite. She wore huge heels all her life, since Papa never stopped teasing her about her height. The love they shared, which I had grown up being witness to and had taken so much for granted, is rare and precious, I realize today. Papa had nicknamed her "Pimy", her name being Promilla, and called her Pimy rani ji. Mama referred to him as Chand ji, his name being Chander.
Every evening at 5.00 p.m mama waited at the balcony of our bungalow, and would not budge till Papa’s car came into view. I do not recall my father ever sharing a problem with us or Mama. We had a carefree childhood, where each talent was honed, encouraged and allowed to blossom. I learnt, singing, dancing, and (kathak) was supported wholeheartedly in my shoots, as a child actor, and then provided with an environment, where both academics and my extra-curricular activities could blossom and solidify.
Dinner was always a special time. At 8.00p.m. Sharp, we gathered in the dining room, under Papa’s watchful eyes. We were a handful, to say the least, the four of us, I being the youngest and Papa’s pet. I was therefore bullied by the rest of the gang. I remember crying for a whole week after my brothers convinced me that I was adopted and therefore bullied. Had my parents not intervened, perhaps I would have been wholly convinced by their tales.
Post dinner was entertainment time. Papa had a repertoire of jokes, did magic tricks (he was a magician par excellence) and entertained us with riddles. He told us of the time that he asked Bollywood actor Ashok Kumar and his brother actor singer Kishore Kumar a riddle which went ”what is it that is yours but is used by others?” They loved the answer so much that they went onto harass all their female friends and received glares and gasps of astonishment. Of course the answer was an innocuous “Name”.
Papa cherished life. After retirement he refused to be idle. He studied Homeopathy and went onto become a doctor. He never failed to tell mama that since her sons did not take up the profession, he decided to fulfill her desire. Mama missed us, since we all left Bombay, went abroad etc. Papa made it a point to inculcate a social life, Where they were busy and in demand. He was President of Lions Club, and popular beyond imagination.
Papa, had his first heart attack at age 52.He was subsequently operated in London for 4 bypass surgeries. Being diabetic too, his favorite cuisine was forbidden. So Mama refused to eat it too. No sweets, butter, rice, parathas for Papa. So for almost 30 years she had restricted her diet as well. It pained my father immensely but she refused to relent. Doctors had been anything but encouraging in their prognosis, since his heart was functioning at just about 20%. Mama, however, had her own take on it all. She was convinced that Papa would be by her side till her end. The fact that Papa survived 32 years after his first attack was entirely due to mama’s untiring efforts towards his every need. She knew nothing besides the timings of his medication, or supervising his food intake. One noticed that she was constantly watching as if to fathom and read his every thought. God, for her, was right here, in Papa. She did not have the time nor the inclination to worship any other.
Papa, from his side, wrote brilliant poems eulogizing her. He wrote Urdu poetry, as one of his hobbies (couplets that I quote are often his) and Jagjit singh too has sung his compositions. Mama loved to hear him recite and would be enthralled with every composition. He insisted that she be her first audience. I consider his verses now as a gift from the divine, especially “tundiye bade mukhatib se na ghabra aye aukaab..yeh to chalti hai tujhe ooncha udane ke liye..”(Let not the ferocious adverse winds deter you oh phoenix…since they blow with the sole purpose of taking you higher).This couplet has and will continue to guide me as have his countless other verses.
Last year, on 4th December, at around 10.00 p.m after Mama had ensured that he had taken his medication, she decided to give him an almond oil massage , since he complained of itching on his scalp. Half a minute later, when she returned, he was gone. Without a sigh. Without a moan. Without a warning.
I find it heart wrenching to describe in words the shock, disbelief, agony, despair I saw in Mamas eyes. All she kept saying” he promised me, he blessed me, how can his blessings go wrong?"
It is heart breaking to see that small, bent, frail, sweet frame of my mother without that tall, statuesque, noble, elegant frame of my father besides her. It seems wrong. Unfair. There was nothing else that mama ever wanted out of life, except to have Papa by her side. How could all her prayers go unanswered?? I have to put on a brave face, wear a bright smile, chat lightheartedly with her, while deep within, my heart too mourns and weeps, seeing her so forlorn, so incomplete, so cheated by destiny.
Please pray for my mother, that she discovers peace and joy within her, and the divinity she has forgotten she embodies. I see that divinity and have been touched by it, through her love, all of my years as her daughter. Please pray for me that I am able to repay in my own small way, the debt of being brought up by parents whose love has nourished my heart and my soul since my birth.
December 11th, this year would have marked the 60th wedding anniversary of my parents. My mother will be alone .She always complained of a weak memory, but it is astounding to hear her quote Papas poems verbatim. Today, all of a sudden she is like an encyclopedia of his works. She insists that it is Papa speaking through her. And yet I now, my petite mother is spirited, in her own way. She has decided to take Urdu tuitions (at age 77) to enable her to read Papas Poetry journals, which she wishes to get printed. She has to immortalize him she says.
And I wish to share and immortalize their uniquely sublime love story.
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Posted by Kavita Chhibber at December 15, 2005 03:14 PM
Comments
Kaveeta - That was a lovely slice of life. Wish you and your family the very best.
A very touching account of what appears to be the perfect loving family, something, sadly, that is not so common in our world. He was, undeniably, her hero and idol.
May she live out the rest of her natural life, consoled by his graceful memory and unsurpassed legacy.
Peace & Love.
Hello Kaveetaa,
May your mother find peace.It is a very hard time for your mother and your family....you all are in my prayers.
Thank you Cinda, Divya, ron and andaleeb. I have requested mallika to see if we can put up the picture of Kaveetaa's parents. somehow I couldnt.
I hope for many more such beautiful stories but more than that love and sweetness for every one's life, in our daily stresses..The past 3-4 days blogs have been hard to read, and I felt this was just the kind of post we needed here.
Thank you Kaveetaa for sharing it with us.
Wow, thank you for sharing such a touching story.
I will keep you and your family in my prayers.
Dear Kaveetaa,
When parents exalt the love that is a gift, between two who are 'soul' mates, it seems to encompass the very richness of beauty, which poets and Nature reflect! And God's grace provides! What a treasure, and to see this Love - reside and be reflected in You ...... oh, Kaveetaa - thank you for your willingness to share this love story!
May it be a blessing to your Mom, that this Love can be showered now for many to see and feel.
Many blessings to her, and to you,
With love,
~ Kate
very touching...our prayers would be definitely there...such inspirational sharings automatically trigger prayers.....
Sometimes we are at a loss when people share their griefs with us. Words fail us though we would like to reach out. A friend of mine , once in a while shares how she misses her father terribly. He was a source of inspiration and strength to her.
Anecdotes can be very comforting, like this one i have read..shared below:
Missing Pa
One day, my four-year-old son, Sam, told me that he had seen his baby-sitter crying because she had broken up with her boyfriend. "She was sad," Sam explained to me. Then he sat back in his car seat and sighed. "I've never been sad," he said, dreamily, "Not ever." It was true. Sam's life was happy in no small part because of his special relationship with my father. Last spring my father died, and everything changed for us. Pa Hood was more than just a grandfather to Sam. As Sam eagerly told everyone, they were best buddies. Long before my father became ill, Sam and I watched the movie Anne of Green Gables. In the scene when Anne wished aloud for a bosom friend, Sam sat straight up. "That's me and Pa," he declared. "Bosom friends forever and ever." My father described their relationship the same way. When I went out of town to teach one night a week, it was Pa in his red picku p truck who met Sam at school and brought him back to his house, where they played pirates and knights and Robin Hood. They even dressed alike: pocket T-shirts, baseball caps, and jeans. Sam had over nights with Pa, where they'd cuddle until late at night and giggle when my mother ordered them to be quiet and go to sleep. The next morning they'd indulge in sugary cereals and cartoons, treats forbidden at home. They had special restaurants they frequented, playgrounds where they were regulars, and toy stores where Pa allowed Sam to race up and down the aisles on motorized cars. When I'd arrive to take Sam home, he always cried. "Pa, I love you. I miss you already!" He memorized my father's phone number when he was 2 and called him every morning and every night. "Pa," Sam would ask, clutching the phone, "can I call you ten hundred more times?" Pa always said yes, and then answered the phone each time with equal delight. In the months that my father was in the hospital with lung cancer, I worried about how Sam would react to Pa's condition the bruises, from needles, the oxygen tubes, his weakened body. When I explained to Sam that seeing Pa so sick might scare him, Sam was surprised. "He's my Pa," he said. "He could never scare me." And he never did. Sam would walk into the hospital room and climb right into bed with my father, undaunted by the changes in Pa's appearance or in the increasing amount of medical apparatus he acquired every day. I watched adults approach the bedside with great trepidation, unsure of what to say or do. But Sam seemed to know exactly what was right: hugs and jokes, just as always. "Are you coming home soon?" he'd ask. "I'm trying," Pa would tell him. Since my father's death, I have kept my overwhelming sadness at bay. When well-meaning people approach me to ask how I'm doing, their brows furrowed in sympathy, I give them a short answer and swiftly change the subject. I'd rather not confront the questions and the feelings that my dad's death has raised. But Sam is different. He thinks that wondering aloud and sorting out together is the best way to understand. "So," he says, settling into his car seat, "Pa's in space, right?" Or loudly in church, where he points upward to the stained-glass window: Is one of those angels Pa?" Right after my father died, I told Sam he was in heaven. "Where's heaven?" Sam asked. "No one knows exactly," I said, "but lots of people think it's in the sky." Sam thought about that and then shook his head. "No," he said, "it's very far away. Near Cambodia." "When you die," he said on another afternoon, "you disappear, right? And when you faint, you only disappear a little. Right?" Each time he offers one of these possibilities he waits for me to confirm i t as true. He is sorting out the things he's certain of and the things he's trying to understand. I think his questions are good. The part I have trouble dealing with is what he always does after he asks: He looks me right in the eye with more hope than I can stand and waits for my approval or correction or wisdom. But in this matter, my own fear and ignorance are so large that I grow dumb in the face of his innocence. The truth is, I have no answer to the question we struggle hardest with: How can we find a way to be with my father when we don't know where or even if he is? Remembering Sam's approach to my father's illness, I began to watch his approach to grief. At night, he would press his face against his bedroom window and cry, calling out into the darkness, "Pa, Pa, I love you! Sweet dreams!" Then, after his crying stopped, he would climb into bed, drained but satisfied somehow, and sleep. I, on the other hand, would wander the house all night, not knowing how to mourn. One day, in the supermarket parking lot, I caught sight of a red truck like my father's; for an instant I forgot he had died. My heart leaped as I thought, Dad's here shopping too! Then I remembered, and I succumbed to an onslaught of tears. Sam climbed into the front seat, jamming himself onto my lap between me and the steering wheel. "I know," he soothed, wiping my wet cheeks. "You miss Pa, don't you?" I managed to nod. "Me too," he said. "But you have to believe he's with us, Mommy. Watching and loving us. You have to believe that, or what will we ever do?" Too young to attach to a particular ideology, Sam had simply decided that the only way to deal with grief and loss was to believe that death does not really separate us from those we love. I couldn't show him heaven on a map or explain the course a soul might travel. But he found his own way to cope. I can't honestly say that I've fully accepted my father's death, even all these months later. But my son has taught me a lot about how to grieve. Recently, while I was cooking dinner, Sam sat by himself at the kitchen table and quietly colored in his Spiderman coloring book. "I love you too," he said. I laughed and turned to face him. "No," I told him. "You say, 'I love you too only after someone says, 'I love you first." "I know that," Sam said. "Pa just said 'I love you, Sam' and I said 'I love you too. " As he spoke, he kept coloring and smiling. "Pa just talked to you?" I asked. "Oh, Mommy," Sam said, "he tells me he loves me every day. He tells you too. You're just not listening." Again, I have begun to take Sam's lead. I have begun to listen.
Unknown author
That is beautiful Sundar, thanks. I'm sure Kaveetaa's mother will be comforted by every one's words.
Thanks Matt and Kate
Hi Kaveeta,your parents'love story is very touching. I wish your mother Peace. I think her wanting to learn Urdu will keep her mind busy and probably she will find comfort in that.May God bless you and your mother. Losing a father is a tremendous loss. I am so sorry for you. Take care.
Kaveetaa...What An Inspiring Couple!!! She's still madly in Love with your Dad. It reminds me of Shashi Kapoor's life story. I've been inspired by his Love story. That's Real spousal love to me.
May God bless your Mom with Serenity and Let the Love of your Dad inspire her to cherish and celebrate the moments of the future life ahead of her.
Love..Sachin
Mom had been doing Bhagti Yoga all her life and ultimately has found her God within.
Kaveetaa, what your Mom says is true. Your Papa is now within her and indeed speaking through her. That is, in the form of spirit, which indeed every God is at the end of the day.
Harb.
PS: You are a great story teller too. Now next tell the story of your own discovery of 'God' within.
Dear Kaveetaa
The Mehandi on your mother's palms brings back all those memories... of wanwun, stretching till wee hours of the morning, those wet kisses on the forehead of the bride, feast of haak and nadar churma.
A beautiful story!
Hello friends,
Words are most difficult to summon at times like this. If only the gratitude in my heart could somehow get translated into a blessing for all of you here. As insiduously as your prayers and good wishes,are giving Mama the courage and the will to go on . For me, I have never felt more consoled, as I am feeling now. The pain has metamorphed into grateful tears towards you all and especially Kavita. Frankly, I was only the channel through which the story has been told. Papa Mama's love had the overpowering energy to have created a life of its own , traverse time and strike a note in Kavitas heart. This bond between them and her created a post such as this.. Papa is blessing you Kavita, you will experience it. He would have loved and desired nothing more than to see his dear 'Pimy rani ji'being given the love and admiration she so deserved.
I can never profess to be a poet , but had written a few lines, recited on my parents' 50th anniversary, which I would like to share with you. ( found the paper with the poem just a few days back out of the blue. Coincidence?)
A house most have
But a home you made
Cemented with bonds of sanctity-
A shelter so secure
That you thus gave
I would never have known
If it weren't for you.
A love so fresh,a love so pure,
That selflessly gave and could
all endure
The fragrance of this emotion
so new,
I would never have known if it
weren't for you.
I was a stranger to the ways of
the world
A traveller trodding in the dark,
The beacon, the guide who lit
my path
I would never have known if it
Weren't for you.
The faith in The One Supreme
The surrender to the One Being
The solace from such giving,
I would never have known
If it weren't for you.
And so I pray to the Almighty
To bless you such
That every moment you feel fulfilled
Every second his holy touch
For parents so close to the One Unknown,
I would never have known
If it weren't for you.
Thanks once again
Love
Kaveetaa
Kaveetaa,
The abridged preview of this story you showed us a week ago was touching. This is truly moving and brought a lump to my throat.
Beautiful people deserve each other - your parents were and will always remain just that.
Very well written too - straight from the heart. Thank you
Thank you all. We have some wonderful writers, and thinkers in our midst. Thanks for the loving thoughts
Kavita,
How would you define a good writer?
AJ.
Some one who writes from the heart, but that is my personal opinion. Any other thoughts any one? What do you think AJ?
Tum!!
Nice piece.
a truly wondeful story!!!!!
Kaaveeta,
Your Papa Mama are every inch the way you described.
Both excude Light - the Light of Love or Light and Love. What a relaxed man Papa seems!
Harb
Kaveeta its a touching story , I am sure the love she(ur mom) has within herself will enable her and you to tide over all odds.
Besides body is gone but the memories and love never die, who is in a better position than ur mom and u to understand that . :)
Our prayers are always with you and ur mom and ur papa is around u know in the heart of his loved ones :).
Ispita
Hello Kavita,
I heard the clip sung by you, wow it was very soothing.
Ispita
Thank you very much Ispita
and thanks Krish, preethi.
Dara, you are right . They were made for each other. Mama celebrated her birthday too with Papa. She was not very sure of her exact date, so chose to have Papas date as hers too.
Ispita, thanks. The sum total of life finally boils down to 'katra dariya mein jo mill jaaye to dariya ho jaaye, kaam accha hai woh jiska muaal acchha hai'..a deed is fathomed by the merit of
its result just as a drop culminates in its sea.
Harb, they emanated enough light to keep their progeny never feel its lack and lustre.
Thank you my friends.
I am left, becoming speechless!
Kaveeta, Kavita both; my heart was captivated; my emotions stir and twitter with a joy, unknown to me.
I am so glad, Kaveeta; for this story; it has enriched me in a profound way; and the impact, was very nice.
It is with my greatest desire; this un-ending, timeless love; continue in peaceful bliss.
You are all, already so richly blessed with each other; so, I send then; abundant admiration to you Kaveeta and your treasure's of family!
Kavita; I salute you again, and again; for bringing this blog; love stories that surpass time; and reinforce a strength and courage, to those among us; struggling against a rising tide..this story is made of pure hope, and love; and I do believe, I have let another tear drop, where it may.
North
Very nice !
Honestly, we all come alone & go alone. All our relationships are temporary if you don't mind my saying this.
But yes, the love between us never dies.
Cheers, Rohit
North
Thanks for your loving wishes. I am deeply touched, considering the traumatic time you are undergoing. I am so relieved to read that 'this post has enriched you in a profound way'. For me, this was the purpose of writing it as well as the reason for frequenting the blog. Sharing, learning and healing working in tandem .
Rohit,
I am sure we all realise the transcience of not only our relationships, but our existence as a whole.
Attachment, however is like an iron gate that admits neither logic nor reason. My mother was a believer of advaitism and a strong advovate of karma yoga. But try speaking philosophy to a woman who for 60 years was following the dictates of Bhakti yoga, as Harb so rightly observed, and worshipped my father. She is beyond responding to reasoning right now. But with time and the good wishes of our friends and so many new soulmates who I have met here, she will recognise and adopt the very principles of Vedas, she inculcated in me. As mentioned earlier, her learning Urdu will serve the dual purpose of vicariously feeling close to Papa through his thoughts and verses,and perhaps his poems will get published and receive the adulation they deserve. My parents were self effacing,to say the least, therefore I aspire to be a witness to recognition of their merit.
Thanks
Dear Kaveeta; prayers for your Mother; are in my constant thoughts. As my Mom struggles with loss's of a brother and a son; though a few years have passed; her wound is so deep, it cannot heal yet.
Love, patience and time; will provide both our Mom's with the necessary Hope...I pray with you; it will not be long, in their waiting for peace.
With you, in good intentions as well, Kaveeta; for healing the wounds of grief and sorrow; may the windows to peace, be opened soon.
Namaste,
North
North,
The inevitable is the least acceptable.
I am reminded of a story that took place during The Buddhas lifetime. It is believed that He had his own inimitable style of explaining the most complex in the simplest manner possible.
An old lady who had lost her only child and was now destitute came to him and begged him to prove his saintliness by restoring life to her son. He calmly tried to reason out. She,in her delirium , refused to leave till he performed what she thought was a simple task for him. When Buddha realised that her obstinacy had got the better of her, he called her . She was beside herslf with joy in the hope of witnessing the miracle of her son coming back to life. The Buddha explained patiently that He wanted her to bring him five grains of rice from a family who has not had a death in their house. The woman excitedly set about doing as was told..You must have guessed North.She could not collect a single grain. There was no such home. She returned dejectedly,but had learnt the lesson that Buddha had cleverly taught her, namely that sorrow was everywhere. She then went on to become a Bhikshu(monk).
We are human and there is no greater proof than this that we cannot face the inevitable. We grieve over the inevitable. If we didnt, we'd have been God.
Dear Kaveeta,
Everyone doesn't really know our transient nature as knowing it intellectually is a different thing. Real knowledge comes when one tastes something of the divine, the blisss within. And i never like the word 'philosophy'. Philosophy to me is limited to mind and it has no deep & real impact.
And i understand that when one is attached, one can't see things clearly. If children are taught meditation when they are young, the world will be free from most of the man made problems.
Cheers, Rohit
Kaveetaa, your story of Buddha reminds me of my own way of giving encouragement to some people.
Someone would come to me and start talking of his numerous difficulties. After some sermonising in which I would tell the person that all people have like difficulties, I would ask him to sit by me till an other peron comes and starts telling his own tales of woe. After the new comer has finished his stories I would ask the first one to now tell me whether his problems are more grave than those of the new comer. The first would almost invariably say that in that case he is better of.
Then many times I will tell the problems of the first one to the second one and ask the like question to him. And he too will become silent in the manner of saying 'thank God, I am better than him.'
And remember, i started talking generally here and not about your mother.
Everyone has to go through their own share of pain in life and that's normal. That is no issue at all.
Cheers, Rohit
Rohit,
"Everyone doesn't really know our transient nature as knowing it intellectually is a different thing. Real knowledge comes when one tastes something of the divine, the blisss within. "
This is my last post to you on this thread , since it pains me to vitiate the sanctity of my post dedicated to my parents. I guess it is unreasonable for me to expect that others too would give it the same deference and perhaps desist from making uncalled for comments.
You are new here I see. And highly presumptuous of you to think that you have gained privy to the inner core of all present here and xrayed them through and through, enough to decipher whether or not they are speaking from actually experiencing or believing. If anything it has proven to me that you have a long way to go. It would be of great help if you could read through the pages of this blog and made an effort to retain its flavour.
Meditation and bliss within are divine words to be taken seriously, as I have for over 10 yrs now.
The first sign of an enlightened mind is a compassionate mind.
Thanks for sharing your views.
We will meet on another thread.
Sorry if you mind what i said.
Okay, i have long way to go. ; - )
bye, Rohit
Dear Kaveeta,
What a beautiful story. The love that your parents shared was truly holy.
Praying with you for your mother and for you.
Blessings.
Scott.
Scott,
Thanks a ton.
I am impatiently awaiting the day my mother reads these touching comments and blesses each one of you with her heart. I have always felt that a mothers blessing is all one needs.She is as much a mother to all my friends here now and knowing her will bless you all with as much sincerity.
Btw,I love reading your posts. You have a powerful mind and have proved, a great heart as well.
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Recent Comments
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kaveetaa commented on AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
Scott,
Thanks a ton.
I am impat
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Scott Masterton commented on AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
Dear Kaveeta,
What a beautiful story. T
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Rohit Malik commented on AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
Sorry if you mind what i said.
Okay, i
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kaveetaa commented on AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
Rohit,
"Everyone doesn't really know ou
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Rohit Malik commented on AN UNCOMMON LOVE STORY
And remember, i started talking generally here
"Please pray for my mother, that she discovers peace and joy within her, and the divinity she has forgotten she embodies. I see that divinity and have been touched by it, through her love, all of my years as her daughter. Please pray for me that I am able to repay in my own small way, the debt of being brought up by parents whose love has nourished my heart and my soul since my birth."
...with you in prayer Sweetheart.
May you and your Mom be embraced with healing loving prayers.
Namaste,
Cinda