Mother in Jowai

Mother in Jowai

Nidhu Bhusan Das

My mom lives in Jowai. Jowai, you know, is the headquarters of Jaintia Hills district of Meghalaya (home to clouds) in north-east India, and a crow’s flight from Bangladesh. Mom Ananya, a parapsychologist, likes the place of idyllic beauty on a plateau, 1380 m above sea level. Mom tells me the warm and pleasant summer and cool and chilly winter have enchanted her, and she would not return to Kolkata, the mega city of her birth. She says, her love for Jowai is next to her filial affection for me.

Last Sunday I was in terrible anxiety when she was out of reach by telephone and was offline till midnight. Where she could be, I thought, shaken. I know she lives in a haunted house, alone. She would not share the house with anyone else as, she says, it’s an ideal place for her research in paranormal phenomena. Think how my mom, a post graduate in parapsychology from JNU, is enamored of the subject - she opted for it even when she qualified for admission to study medical science. To my great relief, she came online minutes past midnight and wrote on the chat box: ‘Son, sorry I ‘m not well. Have vomited thrice.’ I enquired: ‘Mom, have you consulted a physician?’ ‘Let me see, my son. Maybe, I’ll be okay. It’s alright. Don’t worry. Your mom will come round.’ My mom, Ananya by name, is really unique in her thinking and way of life. Her parents are medical practitioners of repute but she would not listen to them regarding healthcare. My grandma often tells me they remain anxious all the time for my mom as she is indifferent to her health and safety and what not. She tells my grandma,’ I’ll live for my son, and you needn’t worry.’ So, grandma always transmits her message and wishes through me. Mom understands, and often reprimands me for being the her-master’s-voice of grandma.

Last night, I told mom that grandma had offered to cook special food for me on my next birthday. Mom became furious and told me,’ Go to your granny, I’m none of you.’ She began to cry, her cheeks drenched in tears, flowing profusely. In fact, my mom wouldn’t like to let her son be influenced by anyone, not even by her mother. She is always scared of losing me though she knows I obey her, follow her without asking why.

Once I requested her to visit me and live with us for some time at Siliguri. She wouldn’t. I became angry. I didn’t accept her call for days together. At last she e-mailed: ‘Son, I live for you, only you. I’ve none other than you. If you choose to be beyond my reach and affection, at least attend my funeral very soon. Take it to be the last message from our mom. My best wishes for you, my daughter-in-law and grand daughters.’ I couldn’t help crying. Tears rolled down. I retorted: ‘you’re cruel, mom, extremely cruel. Yet I love you, I cannot live without you, dear dear mom.’ I could see mom smiled and mailed back: ‘Son, I love you, you’re my world. But wouldn’t you allow me to be in my psychic self also?’