When the heart hurts pray. Pray for your heart to survive the pain. Pray for the one who has departed. Pray that the one who has departed is happy wherever she is. Pray for the world to heal. Pray for all the other people who are in pain, may God relieve them. Pray for everyone you have ever loved, may God protect them in these trying times.
If you are a spiritual being, there’s an interesting app, I’ve been using Meditation +. There’s of course the Chaupai Sahab, which makes you feel stronger, during your trying times. But collective praying, in a jamat, is a powerful tool. In the times of social distancing, video calls, help. My Sufi friends were nice enough, to do a couple of sessions with me of the zikr on whattsapp and the ex assistant reads the Fatiha for mum. I try to follow, along.
These are troubling times, physically and emotionally for all of us. For some of us, it feels like the world has come to an end and this is when we have to remind ourselves, that, we are very lucky, to have all these luxuries. It’s not necessary that our heart will agree with all that our mind knows. It will want to wallow longer, get lost in despair, want someone’s hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, it will want to be ungrateful and childish. That’s when prayer helps, fake it( positivity, gratitude etc) till you make it. Sometimes working on the outside, helps to change the inside.
My Maternal grandfather had two wives. The older one bore him one daughter and the younger one- five daughters and three sons. My mother was the daughter of the second wife. In every story there is a central figure around whom the plot revolves. But it’s the characters that stand on the sidelines, complimenting the central figure, who allow the plot to move forward. In my mother’s family it was Pabiji, my Grandfather’s first wife, who kept everything going.
You hear stories of women who make extraordinary sacrifices for the men they love, who epitomize everything maternal. Pabiji, was an exemplary woman. There’s a reason she chronologically precedes my mother’s biological mother and this it-
My mother, the youngest daughter was the seventh child my Maternal Grandmother bore. Just a short while after her birth, my Grandmother, as was in common in the 1950’s, was on her way to have her Eighth child. Pabiji, took care of My Mother as her own. When Mom was in school, the teacher asked her to get a paper signed from her Mother. ”But my Mother is illiterate”, replied my Mother. Up until that moment she was unaware of who her biological mother was. The educated one was!
Pabiji, spent her life taking care of her Husband’s children. When they were young she nurtured them..when they grew older she loved them, like her own. When my Brother was to be born, it was Pabiji, who came to take care of my pregnant mother. Though, Pabiji wasn’t my Mother’s Biological Mother…I will always remember her as that.
Photograph Contributed by Ataminder Singh Bhasin
My Mother’s Father- Gurdial Singh Chhabra
Gurdial Singh Chhabra, Akhnoor Road, Jammu. J&K.
Contributed by Ataminder Singh Bhasin (Neeru Bhaiya).
Text By Ataminder Singh Bhasin- He was our Maternal Grandfather. Born at Jehlum town (now in Pakistan) in 1910. His father was Sardar Malik Singh jee Chhabra and mother was Bhag Sudhi, fondly called Be-jee. He got his higher education at Govt. College Lahore. The entire family migrated to East Punjab during partition of India in 1947. Sardar saheb chose to settle down at Jammu, which was a good market then for their ancestral trade of timber. His elder brother Sardar Mehar Singh jee lived at Chandigarh, Younger ones Sardar Inderjeet Singh jee settled down at Bombay and his youngest brother Sardar Zorawar Singh jee lived with him at Jammu.
Sardar Gurdial Singh jee left us forever in 1982.