The language of silence

It took me a long time to realize that silence has a language of its own- that sometimes silence can convey much more than words.

Five years back, we decided to send our thirteen year old son to a residential school for his ninth and tenth grade. A difficult decision but was needed in his interest or so we thought.

The school was around two and half hours drive from Mumbai. I looked forward to talking to him on the phone every weekend - but quickly realized that the phone masks many a emotions. And, so I waited for him to come home for  a short stay. Two and half months into the school year, and the school authorities decided to send the children back for a short break of four days. We were conveyed the location and timing for the pickup. I went to pick him up at the and waited for a long time for the bus to arrive. While I waited for the bus to arrive, I reflected over our decision to send him away. Finally, the bus arrived and my son got out looking taller and leaner. My heart was filled with a lot of different emotions - hard to describe.

On the way back home, I asked a lot of questions- how was the school, the food how were the friends and the the facilities? He said school was good and he had made good friends, but he didn't seem to be in a mood to talk much.

Back home, I had cooked some of his favorite snacks. He put on the TV and ate the snacks with great relish. I sat on the floor opposite to  him with a cup of tea. As I sipped tea, I wondered whether the distance had made him grow up, whether he was sad, angry or just uninterested now that he had a new life.  I had realized also, that as boys grow up they don't like to express their feelings, nor appreciate others making too much of a fuss. And so I kept quiet.

Imagine my surprise when after he finished eating, he came down sat next to me and put his head on my lap and watched TV. Both of us didn't say a word to each other, but the silence spoke volumes. Perhaps, both of us wanted a reassurance that we were still there for each other. As I passed my fingers through his hair, I reflected upon his silent gesture and realized that it  spoke of a love and belonging that would never cease with distance and time.

For me, it was a moment of truth.

Kuldaivat

 Last  week, I went to my hometown – Shiroda. My hometown is close to Goa and has a beautiful virgin beach lined with casuarinas and coconut trees.It is a place of considerable childhood memories for me -Long idyllic summers spent with hordes of cousins who arrived from Mumbai to enjoy the sun, the sand, the mangoes, jammuns, jackfruits, tender coconuts and a lot of fish.

Last week, once again everybody arrived at Shiroda. The occasion was the bi-annual celebration of our family deity or Kuldaivat(Shree Sarangdhar). This tradition has been carried for more than 150 years. The story goes that my ancestors who stayed then in Goa fled into Maharashtra because the Christian missionaries tried to convert Hindus to Christianity. It is said that these missionaries threw bread in the well and the Hindus in those time believed that if they drank the water from these wells they would be converted to Christianity. And, so my ancestors fled into Maharashtra with meagre belongings and the statues of the family deity.

Some of them settled in Shiroda and some of them in a neighbouring village. Every two years, the  birthday of the family deity is celebrated. And so the descendants of the family come together. They come from Mumbai, Pune, Goa for the celebration. The family members have built a beautiful marble temple with contributions from all. On this day, food and other offerings are sent to the temple by every family and villagers are invited to participate. At night, a theatre group is called which stages a comedy play next to the temple.

In the evening, an elder family member prays to the Kuldaivat on behalf of all. Each member of the family comes forward and requests him to pray on their behalf – it could be for a child, a daughter’s long pending marriage, a good job. As the elder says the prayer, all present say ’ Hoy Maharaja’ to show their support towards the prayer. There is a sense of joy and camaraderie as everybody joins in unison.

I can’t help marvelling at the wisdom of my ancestors in setting this tradition to celebrate the kuldaivat’s birthday. It has certainly kept the family together for more than a century and through generations.

On the third day of my journey we went to Pernem, Goa to visit Shree Bhagwati Devi’s temple. She is the Kuldaivat of my husband’s family. On every important occasion in the family, we remember and pray to her. This time, I visited her with children after nearly two years. Last couple of years were very difficult for me with the PhD studies, the job and the demands that are placed by growing children. Often, I would fall short of strength – both physical and emotional. At such times, I would pray to her for strength and the ability to help me successfully see through this phase.

This time, as I stood before the goddess, her large luminous eyes glowed.  Was it just my imagination- or did her eyes really glow with pride and satisfaction at me. Like that of a mother welcoming a triumphant child.

I left the temple feeling blessed !!