In old shawl, scent of mother

Sumitra Dabas 

IT was 1990. My husband was posted at Jadan Wali Gali in Jammu and Kashmir, not far from the LoC. It was a non-family Army station. I along with my two school-going children stayed at Jammu in a rented accommodation. Militancy by then had engulfed the entire Valley and Jammu, otherwise a peaceful town, too was badly affected. Despite heavy policing and sizeable presence of the military in and around the city, militants struck at will. Even school buses were being targeted. Every day I anxiously awaited the safe return of my children from school. Fed up with the state of affairs and concerned about their safety, we decided to send our children to a boarding school. There was another reason behind this decision. I was only a matriculate from a Hindi-medium school in my village and wanted my children to study in a good English-medium school.

After a long search, we selected Army Public School (APS) at Dagshai in the Shivaliks, which admitted students from Class V onwards. My daughter was in Class VII when she joined the school. Next year, our son was to follow suit, but the 10-year-old was too much of a mumma’s boy and would not agree to stay away from me. With great effort, I convinced him, giving heavy doses of attractions like the school was located in a hill station, number of extra-curricular activities in the school including horse-riding, the thrill of living together with friends, and above all, staying close to his sister. Soon the day arrived when we were to escort him to Dagshai.

I packed his belongings. While I was closing his suitcase, he brought an old brown shawl belonging to me and said he wanted to carry it along. I told him that the shawl was wornout, assuring him that “do mahine baad main tumse milne aoungi, tab apne bete ke liye nayi aur khoob achhi shawl laoungi” (when I visit you in two months, I will get you a new shawl). But he was adamant and insisted that he would carry only that shawl. I politely asked him why that particular shawl. His innocent reply truly elevated me to the seventh heaven. “Mumma, is shawl ko aap hamesha odhte ho. Is shawl mein aapki khushboo hai, aapki scent hai. Shaam ko jab mujhe aapki yaad ayegi, tab main ise odh loonga, mujhe lagega ki aap mere paas ho” (the shawl has your smell, whenever I miss you, I will wrap it around me. I will feel you are near me). Tears in my eyes, I hugged him tightly and almost thought of not sending him away. However, I had to suppress my emotions for his good and I did just that. My darling Munna rightfully had his way and carried his priceless treasure along with him. 

That 10-year-old lad is now a married man and proud father of a baby girl. He is a good father and a loving husband. He is no longer a Mumma’s boy, but certainly is a doting son.