‘Very good! Now lift up the other
leg to take a step forward. Wonderful!
See how much progress you have made!’. This was not I talking to a small baby but
the physiotherapist encouraging my 83-year old mother, and coaxing her to take
one more step.. The same woman, who once
efficiently ran a crowded household, providing for her husband, growing
children and demanding brothers-in-law, was having trouble walking without
support. As I watched him slowly egging
her on to move forward, I wondered if he could believe me if I told him about
how active my mother had been.
As a child, I had never seen my
mother sleep. She always arose before us and slept well after us, and never had
the habit of napping in the afternoon.
She dropped and picked us up from school on foot, managing smoothly even
when, for a while, her three children were in three different schools. In spite of the fact that our family finances
were not good, she ensured that there was hot wholesome food always available,
for us as well as for the innumerable guests who dropped in at all times of the
day. On her feet all day, she made time to attend music and ‘shloka’ classes
twice or thrice a week. She also rarely missed a play, music concert or dance
performance at the auditorium that was a fifteen-minute walk away.
This same hyper-active lady now has
to learn how to walk! A silent stroke has made her entire left side almost
immobile very gradually. The person who used to recite the “Soundaryalahiri’
while going for 5 or 6 rounds of the ground outside our house, and attended
yoga classes at the local park at the age of 75, slowly had to start using a
cane, and then, when she started losing her balance and falling, was told to
start using a walker.
The hands that taught me how to wear a sari
are now still while I go around her, tying her sari for her, after first
helping her with her blouse. The hands that oiled and combed our hair and sent us
to school in two tight plaits now wait on her lap while I comb her hair. Only after watching her struggle with simple
daily tasks have I realised how much we take our mobility and dexterity for
granted. It is so tough to do something as simple as folding a sheet or
unscrewing the lid of a bottle or even scratching an itch when only one hand is
able to function efficiently.
I know she hates being dependent on
anyone, but does not have a choice. I
see her watching me as I bustle about the house and my heart breaks when she
pensively says, ‘I can’t believe I also used to rush around like you once upon
a time’. I wish there were some instant remedy to this immobility that is
slowing her down so much. Even while I can see her frustration, we can at least
be grateful for the fact that her mental faculties are unaffected – she is
bright and cheerful most of the time.
Thanks to her, I have learnt to be patient and let her do some things
slowly, even if I could probably complete them in half the time. I think I have
also learnt the art of helping just enough so that she is also left with some sense
of independence. I can only hope that I
have been able to convey to her my pleasure in having her around, and being
able, in some small way, to do for her what she did for us, selflessly and
tirelessly.
This was published in the Hindu's Open Page on March 3, 2019 - https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/caring-with-dignity-and-empathy/article26419861.ece
