The Morning Ritual

 

In a small bungalow nestled in the gated community of a small city, there lived an old woman who was gracefully tottering in her eighth decade of a well-lived life. Her days were spent in the company of memories, a ruffled notebook filled with her musings, a small transistor by her pillow,  and the comforting routine she had etched for herself over the last few years. However, amidst the ataraxia of her staggering life, one constant gave her immense happiness each morning - the gentle tap on her windowpane.

It was her son, Sijji, a man in his sixties whose heartbeat resonated with his mother’s love. A perfect symphony of devotion that knew no bounds. Every morning, before the chirping of the birds began, he would rush through the small muddy green path leading to his mother’s windowpane. With a child’s smile on his wrinkling face, he would softly tap on the windowpane, patiently waiting for his ‘maa’s’ response. Yes, his ‘maa’! 

Maa would walk to the window, her gait now a little slower but her love undiminished. Gazing hard with her failing eyes, she would see his silhouette outlined against the misty window pane. With a smile of anticipation, she would slightly push open the window to greet her son. His face would light up in the fleeting darkness of the dawn as he would watch the window opening. As quickly as he would stretch out his hands holding a thermos brimming with fragrant, steaming tea, it would be taken inside the window as quickly with trembling hands. 

There was a melody of glances: one filled with affection and the other full of love and gratitude.

There was hardly any exchange of words, the glances sufficed. He would then hurry back to his house to finish his morning chores. Maa would stagger back to her bed grasping her thermos close to her, feeling its warmth seeping  into her aching bones. 

It was her “morning ritual.” She would sit comfortably on her bed, staring lovingly at the thermos. Afterall, it contained her cup of joy! She would place her favorite teacup on the bedside table, gently pouring her tea into it. Each sip was a sip of love, bringing her solace and contentment. That one cup would bring so many cherished and shared memories back to her. Her sips of tea were never alone. Sometimes, they were accompanied by smiles and at times with sighs. 

There were some rare mornings when Sijji would be delayed or preoccupied with his personal obligations. On such mornings, Maa would anxiously glance at the clock, waiting for the familiar tap on the windowpane. her heart sinking with each passing minute. She would be worried for him because she knew her son too well. He would never forget his “maa’s favorite morning tea ritual” without a reason. Lying on her bed with folded hands, she would slowly start murmuring a prayer for his well-being-being.

Sijji, would also be restless because he knew his mother would be waiting. At the same time, he also knew that his mother would understand. As soon as he would finish his important work, he would rush to his maa feeling flustered and apologetic. "I’m sorry, Maa," he would say,"I got held up at work."Maa would smile , her eyes brimming with understanding. "It’s alright," she would reassure him. Her words always soothed his troubled soul. "I know it was something very important." 

Yet, even in those moments, there was an unbreakable bond that held them together - a bond forged in countless cups of tea and shared laughter, in whispered secrets and silent understanding. In the quiet moments of their morning ritual, amidst the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves, Maa and Sijji found solace in each other’s presence. They thought it would last forever. 

The dreaded day arrived when Maa had to leave her worldly abode. The morning ritual suddenly came to a halt. Sijji stared at the closed windowpane where he had spent countless mornings tapping. He knew it would never open again, yet the child in him hoped to see his Maa again. He stood there lost in a sea of memories.

The thermos flask, which had become synonymous with comfort and connection, lay untouched in one corner. Now, it became a cruel reminder of the void left behind. Tears blurred his vision as he longed to share just one more moment, to feel her hand in his and hear her gentle voice one last time. But all he was left with was the echo of her laughter and the faint aroma of her favorite tea lingering in the air.