I am running late for my son’s dentist appointment. Even after driving in the US for a decade, I am scared of taking the highways. The circuitous route consumes more time, but safety is my priority. The silver lining today is that I don’t have to drop him back at his school and it’s a day off for me too.
Thankfully, the appointment gets over earlier than expected. On our way out, the receptionist reminds me that my daughter also has an appointment the following week.
That reminds me: she must be gearing up for a song-and-dance programme in her playschool now. Not yet four; but she has learned that her mother is busy, always hard-pressed for time since dad is available only during the weekend and so, should be troubled only if it’s that necessary. These American schools celebrate one day or the other throughout and all she ever does is just inform her mom that she’s taking part in a programme.
I have a feeling my daughter has conditioned herself to take her mother’s absence in her stride. She never expects nor does she ever complain. On an impulse I decide to take a detour: why not surprise Anu by going to her school? “Yeah, let’s do it, Ma,” my son also seconds it.
As we enter the hall, I can see that my little daughter’s programme has already begun. I spot her; she is moving gracefully, her little steps keeping up with the tune gently. Maybe because she doesn’t have any of her own loved ones in the audience, she doesn’t look towards them that much.
Suddenly our eyes connect. Her face lights up and her steps become livelier. Her brother waves to her and throughout the dance, her eyes are sparkling and they keep darting to us. Even after the programme, her excitement remains palpable. Holding her big brother’s hand tightly in hers, she introduces him—and me, too—to all and sundry: “See, my Mom and Anna!”
Something blocks my throat; something is stinging my eyes. I try to gulp the lump down my throat and try to hold back the tears. That image of my little one is captured forever in my heart.
My daughter—the young mother in the above narrative—tells me that it was a defining moment for her. Whenever confronted with choices—whether deciding to hold only a part-time job or finally altogether quitting it, to spend more time with the children—she says Anu’s face would appear before her, making the priorities clearer.
There is no right choice or wrong choice but it’s wrong to believe that there’s only one right choice. Let’s get today’s priorities right; tomorrows can be handled better then. You said it, Scarlett O’Hara: Tomorrow is another day.
Dr Lalitha Ramakrishnan
Email: maashu1@gmail.com