Aging is a natural process. My mother is no exception. She has also gone old. She is 91 plus fragile, greyish hair, shrunken skin, brownish eyes, withered teeth, unable to stand erect, bent at the waist level, always looking at the floor, depending on walkers to move, confined within four walls and bedridden.
These are the symptoms of aging. Even then she is my mother. I love her so deep. A rose is always a rose. You look at a rose. You will not like to take your eyes off it. THE MOTHER IS LIKE A ROSE and you will not like to take your eyes off her. She is the same mother who took care of me and my children years ago.
She used to sing lullabies when my children were young. I wondered at her melodious voice. She had not learned music from any guru. She was her own guru. Over a period, she had learned Carnatic and folk songs. We are six brothers and three sisters. Whenever we gather around her to make her happy, she used to share everything with us. Even at this age, she sings for us.
People who have learned music used to appreciate the sruthi she maintains, breath control at this age and her passion for music. Would you like to hear her singing? Here she goes. It is a folk song listing out the various dishes served in the feast of the wedding of Valsala, daughter of Balaram, brother of Sri Krishna, with Abimanyu, son of Arjuna in Mahabharat.
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