THE PHONE CALL. Mother’s Day came and went. And every other person on Facebook and Twitter made an effort to upload a photo of their mom, or update a status to thank their moms for all they had done. As I was going through all these personal and heartfelt messages and photos, it reminded me of a phone call I received a long, long time ago... It was summer. It was years ago. I had just reached home from boarding school for my summer break. In the years gone by, I would have happily rushed over to my neighbour’s house to play and rejoice over the fact that school was temporarily closed for five weeks. However that year, something was different. Something was off. The moment I stepped out of the car, I began to feel sick to my stomach. There was something not right. I did not know what it was, but I felt like something bad had already happened even before I arrived. I was worried. I could hear my heart beating more rapidly with every passing second. And as I made my way to my room, the house was unusually quiet. Too quiet. It’s strange how unintended, unbearable, unnatural silence is often followed by the receiving of a bad news. As I put my bag on the floor, my big brother made me sit on the bed and proceeded to tell me what had happened. My mother was in jail. It had been months since she and her friend were arrested in an airport for the possession of “ganja” (Cannabis). The “ganja” wasn’t theirs. It belonged to a third person who was with them and had managed to disappear at an opportune moment. As naive as they were, my mom and her friend unknowingly held on to their friend’s luggage, unaware of its contents, and thinking he would be back. But he never did. And they ended up getting trapped for no fault of theirs. That day, my mom made an even bigger sacrifice. My mom’s friend was a TB (Tuberculosis) patient. And as they were being interrogated after their arrest, her friend started to cough up blood. My mom knew he would never survive in prison. So, she took all the blame instead. Her friend was set free. And my mom was sentenced to 15 months in jail. (By the way, my mom’s friend passed away when she was still in jail). But nobody told me about this. So all this time, I had wondered where my mom was, and why she had not paid me a visit in months. I remembered all the times when I was the only kid in the hostel whose parents failed to turn up on Visiting Day (Second Saturday of every month). I remembered all the times I secretly hid in my dormitory and watched the other kids getting showered with affection from their parents. I remembered all the times I felt neglected and forgotten. I felt anger realizing that all along, my family had kept me in the dark about my mother’s whereabouts. I felt betrayed. At that moment, I remember my heart sinking. It was going to be a bleak summer. I rushed to the toilet, locked myself in, and cried my heart out. The next few days were uneventful. As introverted as I was, the knowledge of my mother’s situation made me quieter and gloomier. I barely spoke to anybody and pretty much kept to myself. Weeks passed. On one boring afternoon, as I was watching TV, the telephone rang. My elder brother answered the phone. After a few minutes on the phone, he called me. It was my mom. She was calling from jail. I nervously picked up the phone, took a deep breath and said, “Hello”. The moment she heard my voice, my mother instantly began to break down. I could hear her voice cracking up over the phone. I knew she was trying real hard not to cry. But so was I. It took everything in me to not lose control and start crying. Even as a thirteen year old, I knew better than to upset her more. So I did what I thought was best. I pretended not to know she was in jail. I thought it would embarrass her if I knew. So for the next few minutes, I tried to sound as normal and as casual as I could. That was so hard. My eyes were gushing out tears, but somehow, I had to keep my voice from cracking up. It did not help that even though she was in jail, my mother still enquired like a mother. She wanted to know if I was having my meals on time, if I kept myself tidy, if I was good to my younger brother and so on. And on my part, I tried to answer her back in the happiest voice I could come up with. The conversation between my mother and I lasted only a few minutes. She was in jail and could use the phone for a limited period of time and on certain days only. But by the time I hung up the phone, I felt emotionally and physically drained. However, I also felt a certain peace and calmness. Life didn’t get any easier knowing she was still in jail. But talking to her made me feel like things would eventually be okay. And it did. After almost a year, my mom was released after serving her full sentence for a crime she never committed. But we were happy to be reunited. Life went on. And we never spoke of this ever again. But this experience that I had as a boy made me realize something. Happiness may not be permanent. But so is sadness. They always alternate. They have to. They do. So even now, when I face difficulties in life, and I feel helpless and alone, I take a moment to calm down, and I think of the phone call I received a long, long time ago, and I say to myself, “This too shall pass...”
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 10:26:39 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015