Hands Not Long Held....
My mother and I have a strange relationship. We are so much in concordance with each other in nature and thinking that we repel each other. My observation of 29 years is that she is not the sort who would hug her children for more than 10 secs in the moment of joy and success or who would let them place their heads in the lap for a few ticks of clock and cry when broken. Rather she would remain silent to mend the broken heart or give a subtle smile not to reveal her pounding heart. Why am I writing this about her under the title of “Holding Hands” and when she has gone to USA to be there for my sister who recently had given birth to a beautiful baby boy?
I have an answer to this very question I have raised within self. Why I am writing about her is because her hands, chubby and clean with fleshy pink palm slightly bigger than her fingers and her fingers wear an oval Arabic Aqeeq in gold frame or sometimes Ruby fitted in silver sterling are not seen anymore in the house doing stuff at various places and my eyes miss the sight of those angelic hands.
I am writing about her hands because these are the hands I know; have been raised in dark secret nights to pray for her daughter who was expecting a child, who have always prepared sapid meals for her only son, who have held her youngest daughter for hours, when she had a plastered 2 years old small legs. These hands have taken care of the people who have been serving as a threat to peace of her mind.
These hands have been holding me without letting me know or without the feel of touch; through prayers, love, care, foods, lullabies and much more…And I know what I am and whoever I am is because these hands have always been around me like dissolved sugar in the glass of water around the spoon. You know it is around but cannot feel it in your fingers. You drink it you taste it and it becomes part of your body but you cannot touch it. These hands are the most influential and strongest of all the things in my life, who are the architect of my personality and my life. These hands have made a perennial effort to rejuvenate the dead humanity and sanity in me. And If I really had to write about the holding hands really I would say holding her hands, physically for a long time is still a dream yet I know I AM because her hands travel everywhere with me to hold me in form of prayers, comfort,concern and love. They are the reason of each bit of me; only the good bits of me. Only hers are the hands, I hold and I believe I can !!!
Allah...thanks for blessing me with those hands , I pray to you for their protection and health...the hands that are the reason for my everything!