It had just passed midnight. Thunder and rains were my companions when I came to you, Pralayesh-The lord of Armageddon. 8 hours of labour gave me you to join your 10 year old doll that night of winter. When my screams rent the night already spent from the ravages of the typhoon, you also lay spent, yet with warmth exuding from you looking at me, your creation-a creation of your own flesh and blood, molded in your looks. As you held me to your bosom I latched on to the warmth of your body seeking nourishment just as I had for 9 month earlier. My shock of black hair on the crown of my head soothed the tears that trickled down your cheeks as my tiny fingers tried to grasp your finger. I didn’t know then that this single act would be my lode stone on life’s byways in the years to come, my bright guiding star, the rock for me to build my church on. I only knew warmth and security and nourishment then.
As I woke from my sleep away from the security from your womb, I latched on to the comfort that seemed familiar, your touch, your warmth and the nourishment that you gave me. Every day when I woke up I would see you peering at me with a mix of curiosity and wonder. My gurgles and coos my burps and farts all seemed to feel your life with joy. When there would be a shadow of gloom in your eyes, tears about to well from a hurt deep within you, a burst of gurgle from me would bring you to me and the shadows would dispel. As I turned and sat for the first time, or when I falteringly stood up only to fall amidst cries of pain, I saw not concern but triumph. I saw that again when I took my first step, again only to fall, bruise myself. A triumph for me achieving overshadowed the concern over my pain. When you hugged me and kissed me I felt the triumph bathe me in the knowledge that you were there for me to hold me even as I fell. My tiny fingers wrapped round yours yet again as I resolved to take another step.
Playing with you, or with your other doll, my little Maa (Mother) who would dote on me as much as you would, I fattened, became bigger, filled your arms and your life. Gurgles turned to words, steps turned to mischief, every time I saw you beaming with triumph never with exasperation. You took me to school, left me there. Although I wanted to cry when I saw you not there, you told me that I am your brave boy and even as my hands let go of your finger for the first time, I did not cry. I didn’t know then but you were not gone, you were there behind a screen looking out for me, waiting for your fledgling to fly, to soar in the skies over hills of dreams and vales of passion. When the school bell rang and I rushed out searching for you, I was swooped up in your arms. The same look of your triumph allowed me the strength to yet again leave your finger the next day and the day next and every day since, knowing that whenever I would need the finger hold for strength and direction it would always be a reach away. When tribulation wracks me, when my strength has left me, doubt overwhelmed and the road seemed a maze ahead of me, your finger has always been there to hold. Your smile of triumph has always spurred me to take one more step, and you have guided me through the thorns of the road. Kissing my tears and pain away, overwhelming me with belief, my bright star and font of belief.
That time when you found me copying for an exam was the first time I saw disappointment and not triumph. As your finger curled into a ball I was scared. Scared not of punishment that I was sure I would get, but of losing that look of triumph in your eyes. I have seen that disappointment cloud your eyes a few times more and each time I have rallied harder to dispel it further away from you, unraveled that stiff ball with care and promise. I know today that every triumph of mine has not been mine alone but more yours, every fall and the associated hurt has wracked my body but has flogged your heart more. And so when you have been forced to take away that finger, balled your hands, the nails of your hand have dug deep in your flesh bleeding, not from hurt but from facing the moments of failure.
As you step out of the car, eyes held closed by another pair of hands till you are allowed to open your eyes, I see your eyes not seeing what you have been brought to see, but looking at me your triumph. Looking at me with the same look I woke to long years back to thunder and squall. Yes you had tempered the Armageddon to reflect your triumph, and as you smiled at me I reached out my hand yet again for that finger. The finger of my star-my Mother.
 who would dote on me as much as you would, I fattened, became bigger){kind=link}