When a Mother got her third son and the son, a Mother

Sometimes some things happen all of a sudden and transform your lives forever. This photograph captures the very same moment as it occurred a year ago. Last year around the same period, we had the opportunity to visit the North-East of India for a friends wedding.

 The North-East was unchartered waters for us, living all our lives in south India. I was very keen to know about their culture and traditions. My mother accompanied me on this trip to Nagaland, which was a surprise. I say surprise because, by nature, my mother is a shy person and takes time to interact with people. However, when I broached about this journey with her, she agreed to accompany me. And so began our journey from Bangalore to Kolkata on route to Dimapur. The night halt at Kolkata felt strange as we were booked in a hotel and were not staying with our relatives. 

The next leg of our journey started on a warm November morning. The flying time was a little over one and a half hours from Kolkata into Dimapur. It was an Indigo airlines flight abuzz with the banter of the passengers. Not many flights operate in and out of Dimapur, even to this day. There are just two inbound and outbound flights available. Flying-in over the mountains, we reached Dimapur on time. It is a small airport with a terminal building, that looks more like a house. When I stepped out after collecting our luggage, two more things came to my notice. One, the number of people speaking the Marwari language, far exceeded the locals. Two, the sheer number of military personnel around. Within a few moments, I realized that Nagaland was a hotbed of militancy. I had my answer. 

Our journey to the hotel was one of the bumpiest that I have endured, with every bone and joint beginning to hurt. The driver noticing our misery, with a sheepish smile” Welcome to Dimapur”!!. It was a good hours’ drive to the hotel. After a brief rest, I happen to take a stroll in the evening. While walking around the dusty and chaotic roads, I noticed something interesting. All major business houses in Dimapur, seem to be run by outsiders. Did militancy take birth because of this? The next few days in Dimapur were very hectic yet enjoyable at my friends’ wedding. I shall always cherish the warmth and hospitality, with which they treated us. Many of the locals there could not fathom the fact that somebody could travel so far, to attend a wedding. After the wedding and revelry concluded, we started our holiday in right earnest. First was the Kachari ruins, a place famous for its monoliths, then tasting the juicy pineapples at the pineapple festival at Molvom, we were having a great time. Everything was fine, except for the roads. The locals were such a happy-go-lucky lot that you forgot your aches, talking to them. Back at the hotel on day one, we only needed a hot shower and a sumptuous dinner. Both of which we got. The next day, Kohima beckoned us at a distance of seventy-one kilometres. This journey across ended up being an endurance exercise for both of us. Travelling across dusty non -existent roads amongst the hills, one wrong move and you could be history in no-time. 

Amongst the many things that we saw in Kohima was the Heritage museum, the Cathedral of Kohima, which overlooked the city and finally, the War memorial. At this very place, more than a thousand commonwealth soldiers stopped the Japanese advance into India, during the Second World War. The landscape being terraced, it was hard on my mother to climb up. She decided to stay at the lower levels, encouraging me to clamber up. It was tough to fathom all the death and destruction around you, years’ ago. 

Walking down, I noticed from a distance an armed soldier approaching my mother. Hastening my pace, I was wondering what had happened. I closed the gap between them and myself very quickly. Strangely enough, my mother and the soldier were talking excitedly. When I was close enough, my mother said that she(my mother) looked similar to the soldiers’ mother. It was a coincidence, I thought. But then the soldier(who was on patrol duty at the memorial) carried on saying that, he had noticed my mother as she entered the memorial and wanted to talk to her.  

My mother’s eyes were similar to that of his mother. But the difference was, my mother was alive, while his mother had died a month ago. Hearing that, we both went numb. Then he turned to my mother and with folded hands, asked her whether he could address her as Mother. My mother instantaneously said yes. Tears of joy ran down my face. The soldier (whom I won't name here) took pictures of himself with my mother and shared it with his family, right there. We parted ways shortly thereafter, exchanging our numbers. 

As the sunset on a chilly Kohima evening, a mother got her third son and a son got his mother back!! I shall cherish this moment for a very long time.