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L is for...Let it go and Let it be

 

In the case that’s got left behind, there is a humble but rather special garment. It is a seagreen and white floral print housecoat, faded and softened, threadbare with a million washes over many years of use. Ma had it made for me when I went home to her during my pregnancy, exactly 21 years ago this April. I have worn it ever since, the fabric is a cotton blend and therefore sturdy, and though it is now thinned out, the seams have held and there is not a single tear anywhere in it, no patches, no mending required, perfectly functional, never mind its looks.

 

In the first years of my son’s toddlerhood, it saw constant use. That leveled off after a time, but I never got up enough motivation to replace it. I’m lazy with my clothes I have to confess, I tend to go on using the same things year on year unless forced otherwise, no matter how unsightly or threadbare they get. And so it went with me – from Bahrain mindlessly to Dubai to Cairo and back to Bahrain. I still wore it around the house in the mornings. A conditioned reflex almost, without the need for thinking.

 

My mother passed in April 2020, during the first lockdowns in Bahrain and in India. When it came to leaving Bahrain for good last year, I discarded huge swathes of stuff, decluttered my entire wardrobe, but I didn’t, couldn’t get rid of the housecoat. It ties together my mother and my son. Ever since she has passed, I have held onto it even more fiercely. When I was packing to come out to Fiji this time, I threw it into that small case, wanting the familiar comfort of it wrapped round me in this new, unknown journey I was undertaking.

 

This is another one of my failings. I load unnecessary meanings onto material things and cling onto them long after any useful purpose can be served. It’s exactly what all scriptures warn against – this attachment, the maya for worldly goods of whatever kind, investing them with manmade, puffed up significance and hanging on, carrying the comfort blanket of mementos everywhere. It doesn’t make for peace, it doesn’t make detachment easier and invariably it exceeds the baggage allowance. My mother’s memory doesn’t need any material props. I know this in my bones but some other stubborn body parts still refuse to accept it.

 

So. Perhaps this is the universe’s own way of telling me that it is time. Perhaps it’s for that reason the case got left behind. Maybe it’s time to free Ma’s memory from all these physical trappings and hold the essence front and centre instead. Time to learn - to let it go and let it be.

 

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