Kerala Congress leader Ramesh Chennithala pens heartfelt note on mother's passing: 'She was an ocean of love'

Senior Congress leader from Kerala, Ramesh Chennithala, has penned an emotional note on Facebook about his mother Devakiamma, who passed away recently.

Chennithala's mother N. Devakiamma died on Monday; she was 91. Reminiscing fond memories about his mother, Chennithala noted his mother always stood by him, while his father, V. Ramakrishnan Nair, was against his political activism. Chennithala says his mother was torn between affection towards son and his father's admonishments.

Full post: 

It has been three days since I began to awaken to a world without my mother. Though it brings some solace that she returned having lived a full life of 91 years—filled with joys and experiences, dispensing love, not just as my mother but as a mother to countless others—the pain of separation from my earthly nestling bird surges through me intermittently. 

A sea of memories that comes surging in waves. My mother was an ocean of love. She walked steadfastly beside me through all my ups and downs. Like the final harbour for a sailor caught in a shipwreck, she was the ultimate refuge. The torrent of memories is endless. It never stops.

During my student politics days, there was a mother caught between my father's fierce admonishments and affection for son. There was a time when the dreams of V. Ramakrishnan Nair—a schoolteacher and manager—about his son did not align with the path I chose. In the midst of that, trapped, was my Devakiamma. I was a bright student, and teachers and classmates expected me to secure a First Class in the tenth grade. But caught in the torrent of student politics, I missed that dream by a mere five marks. I still remember the day the results came. My father, relatives, and teachers were all blaming me. A First Class that could have been achieved effortlessly, leading to a brilliant future. Hearing all the accusations, I was dejected, but in between, my mother would come and touch me reassuringly, as if to say it was nothing. A pat on the head. That was enough. That alone was enough to restore all my energy.

Even after all this, as I continued student politics without giving it up, my father grieved. Often, it turned into intense anger. All the pressure in between was borne by my mother. Despite my father's stern order not to let me into the house, she would keep the kitchen door open for her son arriving late. And she would have food saved for four or five people. Because she knew my friends would be with me, and they might not have eaten. 

A day from decades ago stands vividly in my memory, unfaded. I think I was in pre-degree then. Ignoring the repeated fierce warnings against going out for political activities, I continued my student politics. One day, in a fit of rage, my father locked me in the room. With the order that not even a drop of water should be given. Trapped inside the locked room. Time passed. Evening turned to night. My stomach began to burn with hunger. My father was at home. Night fell.

 While trying to overcome the hunger with plain water, I heard a soft rustle near the window. It was my mother. 

Outside the window, my mother stood with a vessel full of rice and curries. From there, she mashed the rice into balls and fed them to me through the window bars straight into my mouth. I swallowed them without even chewing. She kept feeding me, again and again. As I ate in the darkness, my eyes filled with tears and overflowed. Even now, when I remember it, my eyes fill with tears and overflow. Mother must know...