Dear Sons: Full Disclosure

Act I: The Paradox

I only have one job.
It is to keep you alive.

Ironically,
I have also raised you in a way
to take care of yourself
in case I’m not there anymore.

There, I said it.

It’s going to be a life
full of paradoxes.
The burden
of a deadline,
and the tyranny of
self-imposed boundaries.

I wonder if I will be able to keep
a promise I have made to myself:
to protect you from heartbreaks,
and sometimes, destruction.

Protect yourself from the cold
while the homeless die from it—
such is life’s privilege.

Insisting on exercising your freedom of expression,
and not always using those empathy muscles.

There will be strange ways
you will have to pay to live,
pretty much how I
and anyone else ever lived.

With one heartstring tied
to a dying parent eight thousand miles away —
and still getting hurt when your teenage brain
didn’t seem to care for my hot meals.
Just like me,
my mother also craves
her kids’ attention,
not their money.

Some best-kept secrets will come out:
that the world didn’t give a shit
when that guy was bulldozed
at Tiananmen Square.
That the atrocities
in the history books
were edited
for comfort.
Media’s non-full disclosure
will perpetuate tragedy —
and the promise of hope.

The sharpest contrast will be
when you meet the apathy
in the eyes of the crowds,
compared to the longing
in your mother’s eyes
when you meet her at the door.

An episode on demand of Girls,
or the ghastly incest in Game of Thrones,
will have you hooked.
A revolution outside your window
will be just another commercial break
between episodes of sitcom reruns.

Words of advice from a six-year-old
might fortify your belief in yourself.
It might rebuild
your trust in the world.
While others just want to live,
you might not be doing well with the surprises
that your new car and its systems brought
into your life.

Don’t bother to raise your hand
if you know the answer;
you won’t have them
for the most important questions anyway.

Some days,
you will worship at the altar of productivity
and make a religion out of routine.
You will use toxic expletives,
and gorge on gossip only to uncover stereotypes.
You will keep going up and down the ladder
of needs and wants.
Keep desiring a guiding light,
but not the one already within.
You’ll feel envy, and awe,
and shame for both.

Oh God,
all the things you will crave
and can never get enough of.
After all the fights and heartbreaks,
only to find out
that peace was the costliest commodity?

Act II: The Survival Guide

Remember our fun experiments on the driveway
with a can of soda and Mentos,
making rockets out of soda bottles?
How we made paper rockets
and got them stuck in flower pots,
and giggled so much?

You will continue these stupid experiments.

Like expecting greatness out of monotony,
missing out on the magic in mundane moments,
or being unwilling to change your mind
when that stubbornness wasn’t even a strength.

I can’t teach you anything;
your intuition has all the answers.

But I’m mom,
and I can’t help myself.

Like the wheel of your life,
you have to move to keep your balance.

Let science calibrate time,
but be saved by the arts. Always.
Take a different route home
and take time to notice how the sun feels
on the faces of those you love.
Look up often from your phone,
else you’ll miss your knees buckling
when that special one walks by.

Phones —
ahh, so much to say about them.
They only hold everyone else’s dreams,
not their truth.

Listen to everyone,
but do what your intuition says.
Lose your compass,
then find it in someone’s question.

Learn to feed yourself,
so you can better problem-solve for the world.
Find out early how a washing machine works,
because you will never find out
what’s on the mind of your loved ones.
Shock yourself
by moving on quickly.

I will continue to rant clichés:
that the pain of discipline
is shorter than the pain of regret.

But, seriously:

When fun seems to be scant, do this.
Just people watch to see what they do
in the name of fame and glory.

Hilarious, isn’t it?

No matter what it feels like on the outside,
there is stillness and peace within.
Stay still
to find it.

While you wait for your subway
at the train station,
and swipe left
every few seconds,
remember that the person on the screen is a child too,
who thinks
they are their mother’s
most precious one.

Friends are family
by chance and affinity.

It’s okay to seek refuge
in the false sanctimony of home.
But don’t forget:
Home is not walls.
It’s warmth.
And sometimes you lose it in the fire.

When you come across choices,
choose well.
Most times.

Eat food that will
love your body.
Or else drugs will become food,
and food will be injected via drips.

All those Ganeshas
were to remind you
of the inner God within you.
The ultimate goal of every human
is to realize their highest potential —
to know yourself and your strengths.
That you too are born a God,
a superhero.
Did I do a good job of explaining that?
I tried planting these seeds of
inner wisdom in you,
but I don’t know when / if
they will become trees.

Yeah, you were born wild and free.
When the police or thugs stop you on the street,
be smart.
Give up your rights temporarily.
Not the time to be a hero.

Whether you remember anything else
I tell you or not,
I’m begging you:
see a plant grow daily.

It’s a radical act.

Act III: My Farewell

You will grow up with no curtain call —
with witnesses who don’t clap
the way I always did,
like an overjoyed dolphin
at every tiny victory.

You will come of age
in glaring daylight;
that’s when you’ll realize that I,
too, never had all the answers.
You will lose me,
and all memories of your childhood,
and some of our favorite trinkets.

No one and nothing is yours to keep;
you’ll lose what you love.
And yet, funny enough,
you will find out
that the most courageous thing was to let go.
One day, you’ll forget
what joy was like
when it came with
crustless sandwiches and tasty crayons.
But you’ll find a lost button
behind the cupboard
and remember everything.

Don’t dismiss your responsibilities
and those longing thoughts.
There will be a time you will lose your heart,
but don’t expect to fill up the holes in it.

Don’t worry about me.
I will be in your memory,
always dressed up in
the best laughs we had.
Even if I’m not there,
aren’t you finishing sentences
like I’m still speaking to you?

And when I’m gone,
even if white makes me look like a whale,
drape me in that saree —
because dad and I met in that
for the first time.

That’s life:
a rolling thunder of choices.
Should it be oatmeal
or your voice in a rebellion?
Should you compromise or
speak up?
Some choices you can make,
and some you absolutely must.
You must keep moving —
to drive, strive, go to college,
make plans without me,
and be responsible for someone
else to thrive.

Also, there are these facts of my life.
I no longer wonder
if I can keep that promise to myself —
to protect you from heartbreaks,
and sometimes, destruction.
Because most days,
I already know I can’t.

Remember that time,
I couldn’t protect you
from the thunderstorm
under the Brooklyn Bridge.

You pretended to be brave,
so I wouldn’t cry.

But this is true.
You were,
on most days,
my only reason to live.

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Poetry