A mother’s prayer of love, ray of hope in bleak times
When my daughter was born, I chose to name her Sehar, the Arabic word for morning. I was exhausted, in a lot of pain and sleep deprived but I did manage to whisper in her ears, “My dawn has arrived in the midst of a cold January night.”
I could not sleep that night and for many more nights because raising a child is no child’s play. My groggy eyes and weary body spoke of an ordeal only new mothers can identify with. It was fun to watch her play and gurgle, but it was also challenging to contain her wailing. Sometimes, I was clueless and would look into her eyes for answers only to find none. Together, we would look out for cures and remedies. Thus, we sailed on together. Sehar is twelve and a half now. “A pre-teen!” she tells me with a glint of pride in her eyes.
The Covid-19 pandemic brought a new passion in her life: Painting. She always loved to draw and colour but the forced break from school made her take it up in a determined way. She started experimenting with style and texture, improving with every step by watching tutorials on Youtube. Now she goes to school but makes sure that she continues to paint every day, so evenings are reserved for creativity.
She is as tall as me and often stakes claim to the prettiest of my dresses, making me relinquish them with a smile. She gives me impromptu hugs on some days and admonishes me on others, particularly if I repeat an instruction.
She reminds me of my mom, who is miles apart in Canada and whom I’ve not seen for two years because of the pandemic. I’m grateful for Sehar’s presence in my life. A senior colleague, who is a mother to two college-going daughters, is mindful of every moment she spends with them. “Soon, they will leave the nest to study and see the world. I’ll be left with memories,” she shared the other day. This painful realisation that my daughter will be out there to navigate her own course makes me hold on to her tighter.
While I try to conquer my fears, Sehar is engrossed in her colourful world as she lifts the brush from the canvas to dab it in paint. A bright yellow sun, tall coconut trees standing like sentries watching dolphins frolic in the calm, iridescent sea. A morning scene as fresh as her name, coupled with imagination is being created on the canvas. I marvel at this magic of colours and whisper a silent prayer for her. No matter what life holds for her, for me, for us, she will always be my daughter. This thought comforts me and allays my fears.
Though distances might separate us, challenges of life might become mammoth on some days, darkness might try to dim the brightness, but the dawn of her name will always shine like a beacon in the bleakest of times. The sound of her name whispered on my lips will be enough to brighten up my mornings. With this ray of hope, I’d like to carry on being a mother to my darling daughter and usher in every new day into our life with love and optimism.
SHE GIVES ME IMPROMPTU HUGS ON SOME DAYS AND ADMONISHES ME ON OTHERS, PARTICULARLY IF I REPEAT AN INSTRUCTION