Her wrinkles as supple and soft as shea butter, her tiny mouth as
it stifled a yawn - I looked fondly at my new born as she lay in my arms, eyes closed as if never wanting to wake from slumber-land, both
hands curled into a tight fist that had to be cajoled to be released only to
curl back tight against my little finger, as if never wanting to let go of me. As
I drew her closer to my chest I felt like a life giver. That
moment also gave birth to a new emotion within me, the proverbial “maternal
instinct” bundled with abundant joy and an overwhelming sense of protection
laced with a huge sense of
responsibility.
I
sent a silent prayer to the Universe as I watched my baby girl and saved that
glorious moment in my memory box never to forget!
*****
I
remember lying down on my grandma’s lap as she gently stroked my hair and I
kept reading a book. A love that made me take her for granted and assume that she
would last forever. I was in my teens and pretty much took all nice things in
life for granted.
“Grandma,
your hands are so wrinkled and rough,” I observed.
“Yes
they are; years of hard work and age has added up,” she answered with a
smile that made her lips curve upside down to me as my head was on her lap.
“How
old are you?” I asked.
“All
of eighty four,” she replied.
“How
ancient is that!" To me anybody beyond twenty was old. Well, that’s
how we all felt when we were in our teens, right?
“Just
seventy years older than you. I was your age when I married your grandfather,
you see!”
“Whaaaaaat?”
I asked in disbelief.
I
couldn’t picture myself to be in my grandma’s position at all.
She
pointed towards the wall at the black and white picture of
my grandma’s wedding photo.
“You
certainly look older than fourteen, maybe you were twenty,” I declared because
that seemed to be a marriageable age to me.
“I
cannot see much of your hands as they are hidden under that sari of yours.”
Grandma
laughed.
I
didn’t say anything and kept examining her hands.
“One
day your hands will also look wrinkled,” she said.
“Oh
Grandma, I love your wrinkles,” I said fondly and kissed her hands.
She
gave me a tight hug and started stroking my hair as I resumed reading.
*****
“Ma,
are you using the creams and lotions that I bought from Paris?” I asked my mom
over the phone.
“Oh
dear, yes and no," my mother answered with a sigh.
“Why
don’t you set a reminder on your cell phone,” I nudged.
“No
matter what, one cannot avoid those wrinkles; so it is better we learn to love
them,” she said.
*****
One night, I examined my face intently much to the amusement of my husband.
“Oh
my dear sweet God, can you see that?” I asked.
“See
what?”
“The
fine lines on my face? Look at my hands and my neck; there is no mistaking the
fact that it has started looking tired. I dreaded to use the word wrinkles.
Few
years from now my daughter would be holding her little infant and feel exactly the
same way as I did when I first held her in my arms, my bundle of joy, the wrinkles
on her face, hands and body, yet as supple and soft as shea butter…..
I looked at the photo of my baby girl, my mom, I and my grandmother.
Wrinkles
create memories and that is all that matters.
