Monthly Archives: January 2024

Gratitude Personified

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“…Shukar, shukar, shukar.. chullo, let’s go”

Gratitude.

This is what screams out to me from mums life. She was always so grateful for everything.

She never complained about not having enough, and made sure we didn’t grow up entitled. She took every thing as a blessing.

How she was raised, reflected in how she lived.

She saw the opportunity to serve, to give, and to be thankful for each moment.

There’s a beautiful video of mum where she gives us an insight into how she was raised in the beautiful little city of Saharanpur in India.

Losing her dad at the age of about 5/6 years old, and then being raised by a single mum in India with 2 other sisters, in an ultra conservative environment and very little resources to their disposal, I honestly have no idea how she survived, let alone thrived.

It made her who she was. It made her instil that within us. 

One of her favourite songs which I loved hearing her sing was “Kiddha karan me shukariya, dathaar there ehsaan da”, and it was a song that would go on to become part and parcel of her life. 

There is a line within this song

“Tu bakshi hai menu zindagi, meh kyu na kara teri bandagi?”

You have granted me this life, why would I not praise you?

Tu mareez raazi karditheh jithe nuskaa na chaleya lukmaan da”

You have healed where a doctors medicine has failed”

I remember when she was diagnosed with cancer in 2016/17, she kept saying that “don’t worry. There is still lots more to do, so much more service to give”. It was that purposeful giving that gave her motivation, energy, focus to remain healthy and keep giving.

If you ask me, it was during that year that mum had died and was then reborn into a new woman, with a renewed zeal and energy to give.

And it felt like we had a new mum!!

There was this one incident, that my niece Tania recalled;

While sat with Queen B for her first chemo, the nurse put the cannula in and started discussing the schedules for her treatment, initially the nurse said she would have the chemo at the end of the week, to which Queen B said “‘”would I feel the full side effects by Sunday though?”
To which the nurse replies “Yes”
So being the queen she is, aunty then said, could I have my chemo on Mondays instead so I have the week to recover and I can still do my sewa?

The nurse in me was like OMG but then my heart and soul realised just how pure she is and her soul breathed for selfless service, we did nimaskar to each other and did simran as the chemo commenced. In all my years of nursing I have never seen such courage and bravery in someone always wanting to give to everyone else.

Mum was the epitome of gratitude, and within that gratitude, the epitome of giving.

Being able to be like this is an art.

And she was the Da Vinci.

She rose above her physical experience, became the spiritual being, and just had the human experience.

Kya jeevan mum, kya bhagti…

Pots, Pans and a Spoonful of Ghee

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“It’ll just take 2 minutes. What’s the problem? There is no issue – just 2 minutes“ Was one of mum’s all time top lines. Whenever we wanted anything to eat, or if she asked if we wanted anything to eat (which she was relentless at) she would reply with this.

Mum’s love language, service language, was to make sure that we were satiated. To her, our full bellies, smiling faces in awe of her amazing cooking, were what seemed to drive her.

17th November 23. After her brain tumour diagnosis, she could barely stand, but she wanted to cook.

As a young child, I remember her making sure that she was up first, making the tea, toast and eggs, and then making sure that we have 5 almonds each, each morning, before leaving for school.

And not just us 3. 

It was my cousin who would call for me in the morning, and my sisters friends who would call for her. And anyone else who would come round in the morning.

She served with love, and loved to serve. Nothing was ever any trouble for her.

We all got them. Those precious 5 almonds, that had been soaking overnight, and then painstakingly peeled by mum in the morning.

When my son was ready to eat solids, mum was so eager to start feeding him, that as soon as he was able to, his relationship with mum became more about food than anything else. She didnt spend time on teaching him to speak Punjabi or Hindi, or teaching him hymns to sing, she just wanted to bring him food, like he was some little maharaja, getting fresh fruit, ice creams, cakes, chicken curry, and her famous, renowned aloo paranthas.

We would always say, “mum don’t go to the effort and stress” and she would just respond ” It’s only going to take 2 minutes!“

Nothing was ever too much trouble for mum.

At her funeral, a number of people came up to me and shared the same story – about how she made something special for their children to eat, even when the kitchen was closed, or if the food had stopped being served, saying that “It’s no trouble – its just 2 minutes“

She served with love, and loved to serve. Her whole existence was service. To her Guru, Her family, Her fellow congregants. We were all gems in her crown.

For over 30 years, week in, week out, she and her Spiritual Sisters ran the kitchen at the Centre for Oneness in Wednesbury at the old and new buildings. Consistently, without fail, cetering for each weekly gathering, as well as the multitude of annual national events, weddings, birthdays funerals, all of them. Taking her annual leave off to support the congregation in good times and bad.

Her whole life was spent in this. 

That void of love, of giving, of relentless servitude, is a chasm. She somehow managed to do the work of 3 people, without flinching, and then raising 3 kids through to us becoming parents ourselves.

How, is a question that will never be answered. But I am forever in awe of you my darling mum.

Dreams, where you live.

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Since mum passed away, from that very night, I’ve been dreaming of her.

She’s been passing me messages, letting me know she’s on, comforting me and just keeping me company.

Last night. Well that was different.

I’m walking in a dark cave, with random pockets of light around me, and beside me is Her Holiness Mata Ji.

Walking beside me.

As we enter a clearing where there’s a bigger cavern, a bluebird flies in, and then another, and another, till the space in front of me is filled with bluebirds, in the shape and form of mum.

I hear this voice, rather sounds like my own, but it’s not mine, and it asks me “You can ask one question” .

One.

FFS, I’ve got a million and one questions for you mum, but I get to ask you one???

Added to that, I have to ask the question to a vision of a thousand bluebirds shaped into my mum???

There’s no easy way to reduce all my heartbreak into one question so the only one I asked in my dream was “Are you at peace mum?”

To which the birds came together to form my mum speaking, she replied “I am beta, very much.”

And then, just like that, the birds flew away, revealing the cavernous darkness.

I woke up today, and Sang asked me if I felt more at peace with that answer. The reality is that I am at peace. I was always at peace.

She’s just missed so much. 

Near Life Experience

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It was about 6pm on a rainy day in late November, early December when I got a call from mums consultant following her diagnosis for cancer.

It wasn’t good.

“Rip the band aid off please and just tell me as it is” I said.

“Your mum is very poorly. It doesn’t look good. And we will do what we can, but she can’t be cured.”

I distinctly remember the car journey from the North, I think it was either Leeds or Warrington where I was on multiple projects at the time.

He told me, in that winter evening in 2016, that my beautiful, full of life, mum, who was always there for others has stage four lymph node, liver and breast cancer.

And for that moment, in that traffic jam by the M6, sat with the river of white and red lights around me, he said “Your mum is very poorly. It doesn’t look good. And we will do what we can, but she can’t be cured.”

With that, my world came to a proverbial standstill.

I remember the distinct feeling I got from mum when she and I talked about it. She was both scared and defiant at the same time.

It was only once that she broke down, the anger and intense confusion in her, standing in the kitchen making dinner.. the look of just utter disbelief – “why me??? I never smoked, drank alcohol, ate lots of meat… why is it me???”

I couldn’t console her … all I know is that at that time, I gave her a huge hug, and felt her khichari of emotions.

That was the only time she showed that frustration.

It was onwards from there.

She made each day count. No day went by with her in any form of self pity. Even during the really rough chemo days, the surgeries, the radiotherapies … each day was celebrated.

7 years. 7 beautiful years she gave us, or should I say, God gave us through her.

She made sure that she ate well, gave up eating junk, kept a clean diet with oat milk, gluten free, low sugar, good fats and plenty of exercise. This, with her relentless drive for sewa, kept her focussed with a sense of dutiful purpose.

It took 7 years for her to get us to a point where we would be strong enough, in a good enough place, having spent enough time with her grandson Sid, and seeing her youngest daughter married and being there to deliver her baby boy… for her to feel like “Yes. My work here is done”

But it never feels done. There’s always the next thing. always the next family milestone.

And for those, we will miss her always ❤️

A Matter of life and Death.

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“You have loved us to your last breath, we will love to ours.”

My last words to her, before she left us-

“Mum, you have lived this life beautifully, you are surrounded by all your family, filled with love here. You have loved us to your last breath, we will love to ours.

There are no complaints, none at all. We are so thankful for having such a wonderful mum like you. We will miss you every day, your quirkiness, your cooking, especially your aloo paranthas. We will never forget you.

Satguru Mata ji has come to collect you, mum, it’s time for you to go home.”

As I shared these words to my beloved, with all the family and her closest friends, I knew she would be ready to fly.

At about 7.45, mum, lying in her hospital bed, talking to me through her inner voice to me (we will come on to this later) asked me to let her go, and to go and bring the family in to say farewell.

She was breathing in what seemed to be quite an uncomfortable manner. Reassured by the nurses that this was not painful, we knew this was not going to be a happy ending.

Her voice, as clear to me as my own, was talking to me throughout the day, the 15th of December ‘23. A date etched into my heart forever, asking me to carry out her final wishes.

She asked me, at about 12pm, in this heart voice, to bring her 9 year old grandson, my baby boy, to say bye to her.

She kept telling me she wasn’t in pain, that she loved me, and that it was all going to be ok.

In the end, she wanted me to let her go.

To give her permission to leave.

7.47pm, I left the room, and as I closed the door behind me, her voice resounded in my being, asking me to bring the family in.

As I walked through the corridor, I met with the scattered family members and said, “Mum is ready to go and I feel she wants us all to come in and say by to her, as a united front (I think I meant to say family)”

I locked eyes with my teary eyed wife. As I did, she welled up more and said “If you’re really ready to let her go, then I will too” and as I broke down I just replied, “she’s ready to go.”

As we all entered into the room, my last words to her, became the last words she wanted me to say to her, and the only words she needed to relinquish the angelic body that carried her the last 65 years.

To give her my permission, her first born, my first love, permission to carry on this journey into eternal peace.

Nothing ever prepares you for this.

The trauma that ensues, the memory of her last breath, the moment of the intense tears, relief, anguish, pain, and love- all beyond comprehension.

There’s no pain like this. No emotion that comes close to a child losing his mother. It’s a raw, visceral, ache that doesn’t seem to have a real physical cause, so you can’t remove it from you. It’s root is in the love shared, that is now written in the pages of WhatsApp messages and texts.

I am both grateful, and heartbroken that I was tasked with this.

But to be able to fulfil it, only mum knows how she gave me the strength to complete it, as if she sat within me, and took control of the whole journey, in the same manner she took control of her life. With grace, beauty and the same selfless nature she served with.

Mum, you are loved beyond measure, missed beyond words. ❤️