A DAUGHTER IS LOVE

 

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“I believe in any religion that believes in putting treating people with respect and dignity above ritual and dogma.” Charles F. Glassman

Very often it is our children who teach us wonderful lessons even without their realizing it. We spend our entire life loving them, teaching them, berating them and trying to stamp our own personalities on them. When younger, they submit; when older, they rebel! And then, in one magical moment, they turn our worlds around with one tiny gesture that turns entire ideas on their heads. The blinkers fall off, and we see them for what they are, individuals in their own right, capable of living life with dignity.

When our little daughter was born, it was as if the whole world had opened up. When she looked up at me with those beautiful dark brown eyes, I was enslaved, never to be released again, a bondage that I accepted whole heartedly. Her father who whispered her name in her ear, and named her ‘Priyanka’, which means ‘the loved one’, soon realized that his world revolved around his little daughter.

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Priyanka went through all the normal mishaps of childhood, along with a few not-so-usual ones. Like when she bounced off the bed, when she was a few months old, and landed safely, thank God! It was only when Bozo, our dog, came tearing into the dining room where we were having lunch, barking his lungs off that we realized that something was wrong. Luckily, it is said that God Himself stretches out His arms to save little babes from falls.

Image: Harry Khokkar

When she fell off the bed again, despite the fact that she was safely ensconced in the middle of the bed, with us on either side, it seemed like Fate playing a prank on us. This time, God, maybe, held her with one arm, for she broke her little collar bone. Once the initial panic was over, she walked around with a figure of eight to hold the bones together, proudly showing it off to her friends, who goggled in disbelief.

That is when the beautiful quote of Marianne Williamson came to mind. “Children are happy because they don’t have a file in their minds called "All the Things That Could Go Wrong’, like we adults so often do."

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Of course, there were times when we would be sitting around and there would be no trace of the little missy. “Maybe she has fallen asleep!” the fond father would suggest. “Maybe she hasn’t!” I would retort. We would tiptoe towards her room, only to find her looking, wide- eyed at a crystal vase that lay on the floor, broken into a thousand shimmering pieces.  Those were the days when I truly believed that “Silence is golden... unless you have kids, then silence is suspicious.” She would take one look at us, and then burst into tears, her lower lip quivering, even as our hearts slowly turned to mush.

When she began school, there were moments of pride and joy, especially when she was chosen by her class teacher to speak on Chacha Nehru, on Children’s Day at the little Flower Convent. She was the only Nursery student amongst a whole gathering of seniors, and after days of careful tutoring, she stood up at assembly in front of a crowd and trotted out her little speech perfectly. My heart throbbed in happiness even as I peeped out from behind a tree, where I had been placed strategically, so that I would not distract the tiny orator in a smart red frock, and oodles of confidence.

One day she came home from school and asked me in all seriousness, “Mama, am I a Hindu or a Christian?”

“Why, child? Did someone ask you that?” She nodded earnestly. There followed a sermon in my own style where I pointed to pictures of Ganesha, Krishna and Christ and explained the different religions and how we were all human beings first. She listened to everything, and then smiled at me. “My teacher asked us in class because she wanted to write it on a piece of paper.” So much for my long sermon!

It was when she was about six that the Babri Masjid riots broke out. Discussions were rampant, opinions voiced vociferously, as religion turned into the catch phrase for loud voices and quarrelsome tones.

We were a protected lot, living as we did, within an Army Cantonment, being part and parcel of the Indian Army, an organization which sheltered all religions as one. We celebrated Holi, Diwali, Pongal and Christmas. We savoured the simple yet delicious ‘langars’ served at Gurudwaras. Bakr-id was an occasion of rejoicing, mouth-watering biryani and ‘sevaiyan’. Within our regiment area nestled a temple, a church and a mosque in close proximity, from where the wispy smoke of the ‘agarbathi’, the peal of church bells and the chanting of the Muslim prayers dwelt in perfect harmony.

Religion has never been a bone of contention amongst us. We have had friends from all communities, and what has helped us bond is our wavelength, which, quite simply, transcends religion, politics and controversial topics. As Rumi put it so simply, yet profoundly, “In every religion there is love, yet love has no religion.” The biggest example of this came when our daughter was about five and we were out on a walk. My husband and I were having a conversation, when suddenly, the little one stopped before a temple. As we watched her, she looked within, prayed and made the sign of the Cross, something that she was used to doing in school. That little gesture stopped us in our tracks, as we watched her saunter towards us.

How easily a little girl had fathomed the truth that lies inherent within every religion, the fact that all of them, despite taking different paths, lead on to the same destination. A lesson that, often, so-called adults find tough to accept!

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Today, our daughter is all grown up, with two adorable little ones of her own. When we look at the way she is bringing them up, we see much of her in them. Our hearts swell with pride for we know that, as parents, we have done something right in our youth.

 And as Angela Shwindt put it, “While we try and teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.”

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This post is a part of #BlogchatterHalfMarathon