Taking one’s mother for granted

THERE’s something metaphorical about flying until you travel on your maiden flight. Mine was in a 10-seater plane from Kullu to Chandigarh; the others were seasoned flyers. I had often imagined flight to be a liberating experience in which I would take wings, and the flight would become a metaphor for freedom. But that morning, boarding the plane for the first time, I was trembling. The journey, winding through a maze of mountain ranges, added to my anxiety, and I realised that metaphors lie.

The moment the plane took off, my soul attempted an emergency evacuation. I felt the ground slip away, leaving my seat dangling in mid-air. I looked out of the window to distract myself, but all I could see were rugged mountains and earth’s gravity whispering, “Come back, child. I miss you”. At that moment, I yearned for the reassuring pull of gravity, a comforting force that makes one feels grounded. It simultaneously reminded me of the security a foetus experiences in the womb. And I missed it too — with a yearning only a child feels for his/her mother’s womb: safe and warm. The distress that follows once a comfort is lost was much like how I felt then. The 45-minute flight felt like an eternity.

The turbulence was persistent. I tried to calm myself by counting clouds, but they all looked the same, just like all the people and houses below. I thought of all the things I hadn’t done yet — publish a book, learn to paint and forgive my son for his “will never grow up” attitude. Life seemed beautiful but short.

Finally there came the descent. As we landed, I heaved a deep sigh of relief. To my surprise, the confident passenger beside me also let out a similar sigh of relief. No one spoke for a minute. It was a shared experience of vulnerability in the face of gravity’s absence. When the wheels finally kissed the Chandigarh runway with a roaring sound, I resolved, “Never again”.

But I learnt one thing: you don’t realise how much you love the gravity of Mother Earth until it’s taken away. Much like a child who finally understands the comfort of a mother’s womb only after being flung out into the chaos of the world. We all long for the comforting embrace of Mother Earth. A mother’s lap is the first school of every child, and the bond we share with our mother is intimate, instinctive and emotional. Similarly, the bond with the earth is the grounding force for every human being.

Both Mother Earth’s gravity and a mother’s womb are unseen forces, always holding us when the world shakes. Amid the vast unpredictability of life, it’s the pull of the earth and the memory of a mother’s embrace that offer true comfort.

Will I fly again? Maybe. Because one tends to take one’s mother for granted.

Musings