Becoming Your Own Mother

Becoming Your Own Mother

A couple of weekends ago I checked into  Prakruti Chikitsalaya, a nature cure clinic about 200kms from Bangalore in Mandya district. The three-acre campus lives up to its name with cottages dotting the outer edge with the kitchen cum dining area as its central hub.

A doctor couple checks me out and lists the treatments my specific condition calls for. What’s common to all ‘patients’ checked in here are the yoga sessions in the morning and evening and a low-salt, no spice, no sugar diet. Which is good because you are in any case not tempted to ask for extra helpings.

But for the times when your stomach protests too loudly between meals there is the jamun tree. Anyone using the walking track has to pass by the jamun tree which stands a little off the entrance of the Nature Cure Centre next to the reception and doctors’ clinics.

Growing up in metro Mumbai, the Syzgium cumini in Latin or  jamun or jambul as it is known in Maharastra or ‘nerele hannu’ in Karnataka, or nava palam in Tamil Nadu wasn’t a favourite fruit. It has an acidic spicy mildly sweet taste, leaving a purple hue and rough texture on the tongue. But try being snobbish on an empty stomach and you will begin to understand why our ancestors were fruitarians before they cultivated food.

So I stood for a while under the jamun tree’s shade and tentatively picked a couple of fruits that had fallen on the patch of satiny grass. As I crunched into the juicy exterior and rolled the seed in my mouth I thought it’s not as bad as I remember it. I ate a few more and felt a satiation of my hunger pangs. I gathered a fistful and continued my walk.

I noticed a couple behind me stop by and go through the same motions. A young girl who had earlier in the day been complaining of a headache, apparently a result of not drinking enough water during the detox period began pepping up visibly as she worked through her share of the jamun bounty.

Of the 30 residents of the Nature Cure clinic walking that evening almost every single one stopped by to partake of this free unlimited nature’s feast. You may wonder just how many fruits does this tree shed in a day to serve 30 people? Well, there’s a soft ‘thap’ ‘thap’ of falling fruit every moment practically and whether you gather a fistful or a doggy bag’s worth, rest assured the next person will never go empty handed.

As I pounded the walking trail I wondered about the generosity of this tree and of all the other trees in the Universe.  I wondered too about Mother Nature who nurtures us. And who nurtures Mother Nature?

 I skipped back a few months to a Memoir Writing class in New York when a sprightly 80-year-old Anna wrote about “learning to be my own mother” in an essay on ‘Parting is such Sweet Sorrow’. Anna, who resides in a Senior Citizens Assisted Living Community interpreted the topic to mean saying her final goodbyes. Although, for the most part, Anna’s writing reveals her free spirit and a zany sense of humour in the life choices she has made. Coming from her this sentence gave me pause for thought.

At what age do human beings contemplate becoming one’s own mother? I know I hadn’t up until then. I mean you have your mother to do that until she’s alive and then you just think of yourself as  a ‘motherless child’ even if by then you are 60 years old and have grandchildren of your own.

Is it possible then that Mother Nature has no such expectations of the Universe? That Nature’s way is to nourish one’s own self by connecting to the Universal synapses of energy?  Consider, for example, the natural way of cultivation that Masanobu Fukuoka, the Japanese naturalist, propagated where you allow natural cycles of seasons and days to guide you to plant, nurture and harvest rather than intervene as per ‘market demands’ for food.

There are times in our lives when we want a gentle hand on our back reassuring us that all is well; a sweet hug that says I care for you no matter what.

Then there are times when we blame our parents for the unwanted  excess baggage that we carry and inevitably there are times when we get blamed by our children for the excess baggage we have passed on to them.

The truth is that each one of us is on our own unique journey, learning lessons from the souls that we interact with - some intimately, others fleetingly.  Working out your karmic balance so to speak. 

The truth is also that we choose the parents we are born to because we have something to learn from them and they from us. When we say nobody comes into your life by accident it extends right up to your children and your parents, not just random visitors transiting through your life.

Even so the one constant in our life is always one’s own self. If we hold others responsible for their impact on our lives how much more impact do we have on ourselves? Total impact, it would appear. And what if the ultimate learning is to give ourselves the acceptance, approval and compassion that we expect from significant and sometimes not so significant others - connect to the Universal synapses of energy in a manner of speaking?

So this Mothers Day I decided to give myself a gift. In gratitude to the wonderful children in my life and and also because I recognise that at the deepest level I truly am my own Mother. Just like Mother Earth who rejuvenates herself taking from the elements what she needs and giving to all forms of life – birds, bees, animals and humans what they need. So the gift on Mother’s Day was a gift of approval – self approval.