By Himalayan Tenzin - Thursday, March 20, 2014

While waiting for the bus to my sister’s place, an old neighbour, who owns the hotel at the bus stop, asked my mother whether it’s me who’s going out or herself. On telling him that it’s me, he succeeded in saddening my mother; making her emotional by his words, “without them, our home becomes lifeless, isn't it?”

Mother agreed, “Yes. They are the garments of our home.”

After contemplating on their conversation, I thought of my own nephew. Spoilt by the family’s excess pampering, how he compels us to be after him – disappearing there and then, only to discover later either wet or soiled; untamed kid screaming when denied to let him do what he likes;  his indomitable alacrity in exploring things around ; brisk readiness to run unnecessary errand. He drives us mad and crazy sometimes, messing up things at home. But only when he leaves for a month or two, visiting his paternal grandparents, his absence casts gloom upon us, making home a suffocating place to live in. It gets totally abandoned and deserted. Absolutely silent. Completely empty.

Only when he returns he brings back the liveliness in our insipid lives.  Children are blessed with the light and power to fill up that void. They are the soul of ‘Home’.

Mother was right then. Her philosophical agreement to the neighbour’s statement, born out of the sentiment for her leaving son was indeed a carefully observed fact. She is one mother after all.
"Yes. They are the garments of our home."

Tagore once wrote, “Every child comes with a message that God is not yet discouraged of man.”

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