2 1/2 Mothers and a Shit Guy

I’m a pretty shit guy, who’s blessed with wonderful women all around. Among them, two and half are mother-figures, rest are sisters, aunties or friends.

The first one is my Mom, who vehemently rejects the idea that I may grow up oneday, or maybe I’ve grown up. She still unpacks my bag, when I’m home and packs them with teary eyes, when I’m about to leave. She still washes my cloth whenever possible, and arrange them neatly at almirah. She knows, which dish to prepare to convince me to eat more. She knows when I’m ill or when I’m depressed, and often is the first one to call and console. She was the first woman of my life, and still the best one.

But I’ve been shit to her. I lied to her several times. Now I know she knew all, but she never pointed those in my face. I was with friends - partying, or with girlfriend - fooling around, or with colleagues – drinking and I hanged her call. I told her I was busy, I’d call later. And I forgot. I didn’t call back. Maybe next day, she’d call me again, and enquire my health, and motherly ‘order’ not to work this much and rather concentrate on my health. I always thought she was lovely and caring and all, but also too much boring and old-fashioned. I always loved her, but also with a pinch of pity and sympathy.

I continued that thought, until oneday, all of a sudden, I heard her counselling other women in my village. I noticed with jaw-dropping mouth, they listened her aptly with faces up and eyes glistening. She was speaking like a pro, with all metaphors and philosophies. I continued hearing her. She was solving their family problems. She spoke so practical, yet from perfect view-points. Obviously, I was damn proud of her, and for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that I didn’t deserve her. As my mother. She’s a far superior creature than me.

Right: Mom, Left: Mother-in-law

Secondly, my mother-in-law. When I first met her, I was total shit. Taniya was still my girlfriend, and she took me to her home for a night-stay in winter, against my wish. I knew her mother cooked well. I had tasted her dish before, sharing Taniya’s tiffin. But when I saw her in person, all I found a grumpy middle aged woman with the serious-most face I’d ever seen. Her hairs were gray and eyes were dead cold. She spoke least, but she walked confidently, as if to show me, Who’s the Boss. I crumbled under a blanket whole the time, and promised not to come to this place second time.

But Taniya took me there few times more, and after marriage, twice. Her mother was at ease, but I wasn’t. I shook my head when she offered me more fish or meat, even if they were crazily tasty; I avoided eye-contact everytime she asked me something; even once, I waited outside in rain for two hours, when Taniya told me she was busy in office and would be late, and directed me to wait in her house, where at this time only her mother would be present.

Things changed when she had to come to Delhi to stay with Taniya, when my daughter came into picture. She hammered down my stereotypical palace of thoughts one fine morning, when she opened up, and told her stories. I was awestruck. Like in a cycle, my eyes were moistened and dried up. She lost her childhood as a house-maid, who used to be beaten blue by a relative; she was married to a person, who never took care of her, and to support her daughters, she had to take odd jobs at meagre fees as aaya or something at other people’s houses; she still stays in a rented house. But on the other hand, even if she was paltry educated, she strong handedly raised her daughters and supplied their necessities without any complaints; she fought and fought and fought until her daughters were well educated and well established.

She told me all these, as if they happened just yesterday. She was smiling. Her teeth were tainted with tobacco and lips were wrinkled. Her cheek was hardened like steel, but with a soft motherly glow. I didn’t know what to say. I kept watching that smile, one of the most beautiful smiles I’d see in my whole life. I was no one to judge her.

The remaining half consists the half persona of Taniya, my wife. No doubt, she’s a crazy person with hordes of confusion, bundles of irrational ideas of fun and flocks of weird complaints against me, but I accept that she’s hell of a woman. I never have seen another independent and strong-headed woman like her.

She came into my life as a simple time-pass, an infatuation, a door to get out from a bad break-up and then gradually took over everything. She became a lover, a friend, a critic and a mother. The small time, we stayed together in Delhi (we still are together, but 6000 miles apart), was the time when she was transforming into a mother. And I watched her, when she looked at her child first time, and hold her lovingly with utmost care, when she was worried with every little crying of her baby, when she whimpered inconsolably during her daughter’s colic pain. I knew I lost her. Like forever. She was someone’s mother now. But she came back, in a new avatar.

Now she’s like my half-mother. She encourages me to go to office leaving behind incredibly friendly bed, she orders me to take breakfast and go for a walk, she enquires about my lunch and health, she pushes me to join gym or a writing course or a hobby. Sometimes she sends foods or cooking materials too in my address through online.

Occasionally I sigh. I surely miss that wifey thing. But then what the hell.

Happy Mother’s Day.