Memories Are Made of This

The book fell with a heavy thud right on her little toe.

“Ahhhhh, that hurt.” Mia screamed in pain.

“Whatsaa fuss?  It’s just a book.”

“Yes, but it's  heavy! A tome of tomes, if you ask me.”

“No big deal,” replied the man behind the paper.

“Let me just fling it in your ear then. Lend me your ear, honey. I come to bury this tome, not praise its weight.”

Mia sat down to check out the bomb that squished her toe. Its pages were old and crumbly. Somebody had scribbled on the front page…

‘O Judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason.’ 

Mia wondered who had penned those words? It was much like the things going on around the globe. Her hands probe more, turning the pages.

 “Hey, look what's here, honey. A beautiful black and white photo…hmmm.. set in the 70’s.”

………………..

It’s the catch-me-if-you-can photograph meant for prospective brides. Of her older brother  to be sent out to possible beauties lined up, all ready for their lifetime sentence. 

There was Jenny, Joan, Sally and Rina.

Who’d be the lucky one?

There was  mama, seated, in the middle of them, standing beside her like  guards on duty. She had the demeanor of a  Queen Mary, far more beautiful than her, of course. Mary was also her name.

Mia just happened to be around, not yet ripe for nuptials. 

The photo op was mainly for Kuriv who was soon to travel to a foreign land, near the Victoria falls to the copper mines, as a mining engineer.

He couldn't possibly go alone. There had to be a woman to complete the equation.

The year is 1977. The land is Kerala, God’s own country. There, where men and women were not allowed to date, fall in love or run away on a passion trail.

For there were tough uncles and aunts to please. 

It had to be a match that all approved. The classy kind. Connections to be made. Bit of guesswork like the NYT connections. Would  the would bees be of their same kind?

Could they converse on the same topics?

Or would she go on and on about Byron when all he wanted was to look at the curves on the share market. Up today or down like yesterday?.

What about food tastes? When fish meets the dish, would it be lemon butter salmon or spicy stomach churning fried pomfret? 

Would she indulge in bad choices, overspending, lavishly luxurious?

Marriages had to be made in heaven. Yet prayers those days were simple, perfunctory and quickly muttered. The rest was over to God to pull  the right strings. Play the right tune.

……………………….

Mia came back to her toe with its achy breaky pain.

She cried out, “Help me, Jesus.” Today she called on the Lord for the simplest, most ordinary things. It was second nature to her.

The photo showed no sign of wear or tear. Those old prints taken at the studio where the photographer disappeared into a dark room.

Stuck between page 176, in another fold, was another photo sent by a mother, eager to get her daughter married ‘off’. 

Why “off”?  Mia could never put her head around.

How do you break the ice when you meet a total stranger for purposes of holy matrimony? Would  she wear her heart on her sleeve or in her purse?

So a meeting was arranged between boy and girl- at a cafe in Madras. 

One look at the girl and the boy didn’t approve. Something signaled  a negative tick. The tingle-me-senses just didn't happen, not in his nose, neither in his ears. 

Kuriv looked at the garden in front and to avoid further ado, said rather forcefully, “Nice layout.” So all eyes went to the garden.

You see, he  didn't want to raise any hopes. With his Omar Sharif kinda look, he knew nobody could resist. 

Nobody knew or cared what went on in the young lady’s mind. 

She must have been thinking: ‘O no, this bozo?’

But she had to do what she had to do. Obey the parents. 

She ruminates meanwhile. 

If I were the moon, could you be the sky? Or just a cloud?

The young eligible focussed straight on at the garden’s layout with inordinate interest as if studying the engineering aspects that went into it. Hasty 'bye byes' were said and they hooked it.

It was one proposal that fell by the layout.

Now there are folks who don’t even get these kinds of alliances. How is it even possible, they ask? Yet the royal families opt for this kind of matrimony. You can't have a king courting a bar girl. Just not done.

Whatever will be, will be.  

Her mama’s sweet voice sang this ol’ song Que Sera Sera in Mia’s head.

Her eyes were now gazing at another photograph. 

Tears started welling up for that reason. Memories sneaking  out of the eyes and rolling down the cheeks recalling her mama’s wonderful nature and happy face.

The papa had gone to heaven’s shore when Mia was just a tender 14. 

From that point it was her mama who made it easy for all her family with her Que Sera Sera attitude to life. 

Nothing was too difficult, no mountain that couldn’t be scaled with the Lord close at hand. It was her favorite song of all and she sang it endless times whether it was while cooking, pottering in the garden or changing the bed linen. Mia could write her thesis  with full assurance that it was this song that carried her through High School and college. Her theory was that if  life was tackled ‘the que sera’ way, nothing was ever going to spoil their future, or create any kind of obstacle. 

Now she had  also gone to walk that  shore, to the city  with streets of gold. Today it’s been twelve years since she left.

You bet Mama didn’t have to sing what will be, will be. 

For now she’s in  that ‘forever place’ and it’s ever present, all around her. The ‘is’ place, not the ‘will be’ place, forever with the King of Kings.

Mia did a Youtube hunt for Doris Day singing that song…but it wasn’t her. 

All she could hear was her mama’s voice.

‘When I was just a little girl,

I asked my mama, What will I be?

Will I be pretty, will I be rich?

Here’s what she said to me.

Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see,

Que sera, sera…’

Sarah Kay, the oldest of them, always  believed this song was about her. French was never her favorite, and so she never bothered to check  out the ‘que sera’ significance. 

As years passed on, the siblings grew up and went their own ways. And when their kiddos arrived, the song always made its appearance at gatherings of cousins and family events..

‘Now I have children of my own

They ask their mother, what will I be

Will I be handsome? Will I be rich?’

(Truth be told, these millennials never had this query. Having moved into the tech savvy stage, they seem to have all the answers)

Still Mia  tells them tenderly. 

                                    And the Sera Sera goes on and on…

Another memory flashes by her.  Her Mama had been creating memories for her in all she did. Never, ever take  precious moments for granted is what Mia wants to tell her own girls. 

She remembered her  mama lying on the  beach with her youngest, and telling her, “Look at the stars”… as if she were the Lion(ess) King. 

And the little one gazed at the twilight sky, drinking in the moment like sweet savor. 

A moment forever immortalized. Both were equally dramatic and life seemed forever perfect as the stars in the sky.

When the  youngest  was born, her mama’s favorite chorus  to rock her to sleep was always one hymn after another.

‘Thank you O my Father for giving us your Son

Leaving your Spirit till the work on earth is done.’

And if Mama delayed singing the line or forgot the words, the sleeping baby would give her a quick  kick, bellywards. 

The song had become second nature to her. Her rising up and her lying down…her own special lullaby.

………………………………………..

Today the years are flying fast and now Mia is the ‘gwanma’. 

She still hums that Que Sera song but her  little grandkiddos never have the ol’  kind of query of what they should be when they grow up. 

One has decided he’s gonna be a fireman like Fireman Sam and the other wants to be a vet. 

Boys think differently, no doubt.

But right now all they want to talk about  is Victor Vemyniyama’s height and how many baskets he can score. They’re dressed in their special tees for the Spurs game.

“Can you take me for the ball game?” Mia asks.

“No, gramma, we didn't get tickets for you.”

“Can I hide in your t-shirt? Just tell them it's a big bag of potatoes.”

“That won't work… you’re way too big, gramma.”

So then Mia must resort to singing the old Que Sera…

“Can I just come for the ball game? 

I will be silent, I will be quiet,

Here’s what they said to me.

No, gramma, gramma.

You can't even say Wembanyama.

The game is not ours you see,

O grandma, grandma.”

They get the tune perfectly. They should both join the Boy’s choir. Their simple display of raw innocent love  far outweighs the bitterness of any kind of sorrow felt in the heart. Or in a squished toe.

The hours run fast and now it’s late at night. They’ve just got back from the Spurs game. 

And there on the sofa is Mia, still looking at the photos, found in  that big book that fell on her little toe.

After screaming  ‘deefence.. deefence’ a million times, the two year old had had  enough. He asked his parents to return home. 

Besides, they had school the next morning.

“I like Pickleball way better. And gwanma, you ken alcho come and play with me,'' said Little K.

Big N also felt bad about leaving his grandma at home when everyone seemed to be having so much fun out there.

“See what I got you, gramma. It’s a big tee-shirt with Wembanyama’s  own signature.”

“Are you happy?  Are you happy?” They  ask in unison.

The same question they asked the doggie everytime they left him at home.

Mia felt  like the doggie now. 

Really, really happy…She slipped into the large yellow t-shirt with Veminyamamyinaamya ‘s big smile cheering her on  right  from her bosom.

“Bhush your teeth, gramma. We gonna bhush our teeth and go to bed. Goodnighty!”

“God bless you, my darlings!” Mia calls after them.

The family don’t know…shhhh!  

But  for tomorrow, there's a plan brewing in her head. 

Two  chirpy grandmas are gonna  play pickleball out in the courts. 

Their spurring action.

As said  in Hebrews: Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds and not give up meeting together as some do, but continue to encourage one another- all the more as we see the Day approaching.

Wanna join in?