By Ravi Ranganathan
Yes, his mother died long ago
When he was a young Boy of ten
She was bed ridden for many a month
Was fragile and thin like a weak rope
He heard relatives telling ‘no hope’.
He used to sit beside for hours on end
Watch her without batting an eye lid
Would see her lying down motionless
And would ask his father, Appa , Appa
Tell me ‘How do I Know that she is alive’?
Father would reply with a very patient look
‘Keep your palm in front of her gentle face
You can feel her ‘Breathing’! Feel the Breath!
So long as she breathes, she’s alive’
The innocent lad kept trying this frequently
He was so relieved that he could feel her breath.
‘Appa, if I can capture her breath in my palms
And swallow it, will she not be alive always
Was his innocent query: ‘Of course you can’
His father replied to avoid further on this.
The boy dutifully captured his mother’s breath!
~ ~ ~
The boy is now a grown up man, duly married
With two children of ages eight and ten
Yet, he reaffirms with all innocence and belief
That his mother is alive; ‘she’s breathing’!
And when left all alone, he would touch his heart
And whisper to himself, ‘Sorry Amma, you are here
I need your precious breath to stay alive’…
By Ravi Ranganathan
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