For the past 10 years, Indu has had the toughest job in the world. She works 24/7, receives no compensation, and has never had a vacation day. Yet if you ask her, she’d tell you there is no other way she would have rather spent this past decade.
Indu’s ten-year old son Guru has suffered from cerebral palsy since birth. When not in his mother’s arms, his frail body lies contorted on the floor, unable to support his own weight. He cannot feed himself, speak, or sit upright on his own, much less walk. At some points, his limbs, emaciated from lack of solid food, are no thicker than my thumb. His eyes constantly wander between the faces that stand over him, showing no trace of recognition. His expression is most often frozen in a far-away look of discomfort.
The exception is his response to new sounds: clapping, the jingle of manjiras, or bells, and whistling. Guru’s eyes light up. His protruding jaw stretches into a smile that feels unfamiliar on his skinny face.
Due to his condition, Guru needs constant attention. But even after ten years, Indu shows no signs of fatigue. She never complains. She never puts her own needs before the many demands of her ill son. She never shows signs of self-pity, but rather, she seems to glow whenever she is given a small chance to serve Guru – wiping sweat from his forehead, pouring cool water drop-by-drop into his mouth because he cannot swallow, swatting flies away from his face as he sleeps.
Although Indu’s life has been forced into a disheartening routine – structured around the needs of her son’s syndrome, leaving no room to think about herself, to relax for one moment, to breathe freely – she admits that if Guru were to die, her world would be devastated. She cannot imagine moving forward in a life without her son, despite the stark limitations his condition has cemented on their lives.
There is no greater form of seva than motherhood.
Over the past six months, I have meditated on the idea of unconditional love. It is the basis of true service – love without expectation. It is not easy to achieve, especially for myself, with 21 years of ego poured like concrete into my psyche. But mothers show a great example.
When I found myself frustrated with the troublemaking tweens at the Sabarmati street school, I was often reminded of a quote that is painted outside of Manav Sadhna: every child is a message that God is not yet discouraged of man.
Each child I have met during my time in India, no matter how dirty and unwashed, unrefined in their behavior, or absentminded in their studies has shown the promise of a successful human being, and a beautiful soul. Their raw, uncouth manners have slowly chipped away at my solidified ego, inviting me to put my assumptions aside and do what I can to help them realize their potential.
Only when my actions become about truly empowering them, rather than empowering myself with my own lofty ideas of service, can we both grow. I can’t say I’ve reached that point. But I do know how much I worry about those kids. I know how upset I become when they show disrespect to each other, or worse, when they show disrespect to themselves.
I imagine that the strong feelings I have for my street school children, as their didi, or older sister, are maybe 1% of what a mother feels for her child. While my understanding of these children’s potential came as small glimpses into their character as our relationship grew, a mother never doubts the beauty and strength in her child. A mother’s seva is cultivating those virtues in a child, and developing a beautiful soul for the world to benefit from.
Two weeks ago, Guru and his mother met a CP specialist for the first time. She explained that sometimes, as painful as it is, Indu has to let Guru struggle. After a lifetime to spoon-feeding her son (literally), Indu has prevented Guru from developing the skills and motor functions to do simple things, like suck on solid food, chew, and swallow. According to the specialist, a mother’s love is so strong, that sometimes it must be kept in check, allowing a child to learn to live on his own.
My mom is my best friend. Her pet name for me is, ironically, Didi. She has set a brilliant example of how to be a beautiful person and a beautiful soul. She has let me make my own mistakes, even though I know it has often been unbearable for her to see me falter and disregard her advice. But she is always there, regardless of the time zone, to wipe my tears and give me the strength that only a mother can.
I have learned more about seva from her than from these seven months in India. And I can only hope to one day be able to match her displays of unconditional love.
