Are all mothers loving? No! They are not. Most of
them are; just not all. My granny was not.
Granny had five children - 3 daughters, 2 sons; my mother the
eldest. My granny did not love her.
She stopped my mother from going to school.
Grandpa was the headmaster of a small school, a very good teacher. But in front
of his wife, he was a mouse. He couldn’t stop his eldest, dearest and most
obedient of all children from being abused in the hands of her own mother. He
remained a mute spectator throughout his life. May be granny thought that since
she had so many children, one after the other, she needed an extra hand to
manage the household. She sent my mother to work on the rice fields – from the
age of seven.
My mother would finish her back breaking work, eight hours or
more daily, and come home – to continue to work some more. She had to help cook dinner and wash clothes
of the family and do the dishes too. Watch the Japanese serial “Oshin” to have
an idea of the kind of hardships some young girls are put through in life.
My mother described
her childhood in one word “Tired.” She was tired all the time. She didn’t have
friends her age because she wasn’t allowed to play. She had to work. The only ‘nice’
thing she recalls is her rare walks with her father, the only person who loved
her and cared for her. She continued to work and support her family. She got her
siblings married and helped her brothers set up businesses.
My mother never cried as she narrated her childhood stories.
I guess sometimes the pain one goes through is so much that the tears never come
out. They harden and lie in your heart – insoluble, occupying a large part of
it. Maybe they flowed like a teaming river once upon a time but now they have
turned into little rocks of sorrow.
My mother forgave my granny because granny carried her in
her womb for nine months. I thought that was a stupid excuse to pardon
someone’s sins. If I ill-treat my children, I have no moral right to do the
melodrama of the womb thing even if it’s true that carrying a baby is an arduous
journey.
My mother used to peep through the windows of the classroom
her father taught in and my granny would pull her and drag her back to the
fields. What kind of a mother does that? A cruel mother!
Do cruel mothers
exist? They do. But, we as children, are fed this glorious narrative that
mothers are Gods, mothers are all forgiving, all loving and since God
couldn’t be everywhere, he sent mothers. Or some such crap. When I read about other
cruel mothers, I am not shocked. I am pained. I believe that these horror
stories are possible. Our social narrative hurries to portray the father as the
evil one and finds it hard to accept that mothers can be mean too. Truth is, some
of them are.
When I think of my own childhood, it was way, way, way, way
better than hers in every possible way – schooling, clothes, food, games, fun, and
affection – EVERY aspect. Sometimes, I sit staring into empty space, thinking
of the futility of my mother’s sacrifices and hardships. Why is life so hard
for some? My eyes warm up; tears cloud my vision and slowly trickle down my
cheeks in a feeble attempt to right the wrong. They sting my cheeks. They are worthless.
But I can’t stop them. They don’t listen to me, my voice of reason, to my
pleading, to let go, that it’s over. They choke my throat and there is a
numbing pain in my head. How do I stop it? How do I move on?
I feel guilt and shame when I complain of silly
things. I complain Sathya didn’t call me from office to check how I was. I
complain Tanvi didn’t finish the work I had told her ten times. I complain and I
complain. The tears mock me. They drip down and wet my heart. They soak it with
remorse. A heart of gratitude - wouldn’t that be a good enough reward for the
life I have received? The heart softens, momentarily. The tears have drenched
it. It is warm and moist now. I turn my head and look at the pictures of my
family. I smile - immensely thankful.
I have been blessed - for nothing. My
mother has been cursed - for nothing.
Is it karma? The only explanation my mother gave was maybe
she was a monster in her previous life. She was paying her dues in this one and
trying to secure a better life in her next.
The only explanation I can give for
my good life is I am reaping what my mother sowed. Her kindness has earned me a
decent life. Like Ajay Devgan says in a movie, “Dua mei yaad rakhna”, I guess
there are people who remember me in their prayers.
