Teach your fingers while they can still learn!

Son, I am writing to you this afternoon for an important reason.

You are growing up fast and so are ten little soldiers on your palm. It is important that you educate them while they can still learn and before they are misguided by musings of your own mind. While it is essential for you to know and understand the Archimedes principle, Trigonometry identities, and Human Anatomy, it is equally important that you impart some knowledge, skills, and habits to your ten tiny soldiers. Sounds absurd? Maybe it does, but hear me out first!

Son, do you know when you were just ten months old, you broke your dad's expensive glasses and my favorite flower vase. And at two, your aunt's imported perfume bottle and your uncle's iPhone. And at three, your own beloved toy-train? Unknowingly, of course. Do you know the reason why all toddlers have this similar habit? Because when we are born, our baby fingers are like untamed wild creatures who want to reach out but have no clue of what to do with the things that come their way. Their basic instinct is to just grab and throw, destroy, unaware of the fact that most broken things can't be fixed. Hence, when we grow up, it is our duty to tame our fingers and discipline this bunch of nincompoops into a responsible army. Reason? Phones and glasses and toys are replaceable, Son. People aren't! 

Dear Son, I have always believed that what you do is what you are- what you do matters more than where you are, what you are born with or what you dream of. You just need to apprise your little army with what your heart desires and it will build you huge skyscrapers, write profound novels, smash tennis balls in courts and even grow your favorite oranges in the backyard. But you know what, this army can be easily persuaded. It adapts quickly and can change its habits in a jiffy. You give them a lighter and they can light a lamp this moment and ignite a cigarette the next. You teach them to shoot and they can pose for Olympic medals or become those of a terrorist's. Hence, it is important that you cultivate in them the right wisdom so that they can make the right decisions. Decisions that reflect your quintessence.

Hands are the maps of our lives, Son. They have in them chronicled all reminiscences of heart and soul. I want you to take a look at the hands of your grandparents. Do you notice they are stiff and wrinkled with umpteen age marks? Do you see the hands of your grand-moms? Can you figure out the stories they are telling? The stories of swollen fingertips, knife cuts, and hot oil burns, buried layer under layer? The stories of three stubborn kids, difficult in-laws, and no helping hand? The stories of tireless tending and no stopping? Teach your fingers Son- the ability to endure. The strength to carry on, never rest, and nurture the family despite thousand reasons to give up. Do you see the hands of your grand-dads? Can you figure out their stories? The stories of their hands that scorched all day in the heat to hold the stars in place, for me, your dad and our siblings? The stories of calloused palms that earned every brick of the house we grew up in? The stories of rugged fingers, which before putting morsels in their own mouths, counted pennies for our school fees? Teach your fingers Son -to work hard. They would be bent and broken, dried and raw, tired and slimy but they should never stop working. Your grandparents worked hard and endured all the hardships. And that's how our skies were always sunny. I am afraid they hid the dark clouds beneath their veins, like a rock salt. Go. Kiss their hands. The tears might just melt. 

Dear son, you see the spaces between your fingers? They were created to fit in a special someone's. A few years from now you would fall in love or may be in love already. Love that someone with both your hands. Press your fingers a little harder and hug tight when she says "I'm fine" but you see she isn't okay. Make her some good coffee and a cheese sandwich when she has had a tiring day. Comb her confusions, clap her achievements, kiss the scars that shine on her fingertips. Wash away the sweat on her palms with you grip. Most importantly, learn to hold her hands. Hold her hands like universe holds the stars. Like ocean holds the sand. Like papers hold the ink. How you hold a hand is a sketch of your soul. Make sure it comes out fine. Son, someday you will travel places and meet new faces and your mind will give you an impression that you have ample options. But your fingers will always know where did they fit best. Listen to them. Teach them to knuckle down in a relationship before they learn to unbutton. Let your fingers have the spine! They are much more than nerves and tissues and veins. They are an army. Powerful, yet sensitive. Forgiving, but they never forget!

Son, teach your fingers to create and caress. To not hesitate to pick up sanitary napkins from the store for the women in the house. To make a phone call and not type emotionless emoticons. To plant saplings and count blessings. To not scorn while doing dishes or cleaning toilet seats. To hold walking sticks and school bags with equal ease.  To buy pencils and drum on dining tables. To not let go too easily, to touch appropriately. To not hold on too much. To draw clouds in the dust. To dress up wounds, to paint half-moons. To fold in prayers and curl into fists. To flip the pages of the fables and clear the mist. To not crumble when they bid goodbyes...Teach them while they can still learn! They can learn more than minds do. Understand more than hearts do. They are beautiful than faces could ever be.

You cannot stop their lines from forming but you can always color your highways!

Love,
Mom

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