To the Silent Star That Sings Me to Sleep

As I found myself unable to fall asleep once again, I turned to my usual routine: I checked my phone for messages before deciding that I had to switch the arm I was sleeping on. After that arm started aching, I switched into my vampire sleeping in a coffin mode. Waking up groggy and tired confirmed my suspicion that I, in fact, did not get my much-needed 5 hours of sleep. According to my mother, I have always been a short sleeper, who apparently never slept a lot even as a toddler. She narrated stories of some of the greatest adventures I had trying to escape bedtime, which would often frustrate my great-grandmother. She would often try to bribe me into sleeping with an extra bedtime story, and when all her literary tactics failed, she would gently hold me in bed.

These bedtime stories were not always Panchatantra tales or stories from the Mahabharata or the Ramayana; they were often stories from her life, stories about my grandmother or my mother, or sometimes even my sister. Sometimes they were simple poems or songs, which I didn’t always fully understand but thoroughly enjoyed because of the way they were delivered in her familiar voice. Out of all the songs she sang to me over the years, one that stuck with me for some reason is “Thumbi Thumbi Vaa Vaa.” Maybe it's because I can still remember the imagery that went on in my mind whenever she sang it to me.

My great-grandmother, as my first teacher, introduced me to many things. Sure, most of them were capsulized into the form of stories, but she also taught me a little bit of everything, from mathematics to needlework to how to pin my handkerchief to my pocket on the first day of kindergarten. Years would pass before I came back to this very song on a rather horrible, sleepless night. I found myself tearing up when the song started, and I realized what it meant to me. I realized that I never got a chance to thank my great-grandmother for all she had done for me. I was mad at myself for not remembering the last time she sang that song for me, and now all I had was this YouTube video.

All those years when I was too small to venture beyond the familiar walls of home, thank you for always being there, anchoring my little world with your quiet, gentle presence. Thank you for being my silly friend who played all the silly games I came up with. Thank you for reading to that little brat who used to sit in a comically large chair waiting to see your silhouette appear by the gate every morning as you came back from the temple. Thank you for being patient with that little kid who used to pester you for his favorite bedtime stories. Thank you for holding that 3-year-old tight when he expressed concerns about ghosts, robbers, or whatever new figment of imagination he could come up with. Thank you for being that presence in my life, just like in all these pictures, watching over me from a distance. Thanks again, for waiting outside the exam hall as I took the first exam of my life in kindergarten. I couldn’t see you that day, and now, when I can’t see you ever again, what comforts me is the hope that you are watching over me from a distance a bit larger than the distance from that kindergarten classroom to the courtyard.

Even though the YouTube video of 'Thumbi Thumbi Vaa Vaa' can never compare to my great-grandmother’s version, I find peace in knowing that her voice, singing her version, will always be in my mind. Tonight, I’ll sleep a little easier, knowing that even in my most restless hours, her song will be with me, reminding me that things will be okay.