Tag Archive | mother

Dark Secret

We all called her Aayi, she was a mother to all. Her children were away in the USA. Daughter had married a South African,  son a German. But Aayi never cribbed. 'They are happy, that is all I want', she said.

We worked for destitute women. Inspiring some, motivating others. Finding new opportunities, selling their produce.

And one day her life breath passed away. Her neighbor informed me. Her  possessions were all in a bag. Her worth was though some lakhs. She had bequeathed all to me, ‘for a child who is more than my own’, her will had said.

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Written for the prompt Dark secrets for

100 Words On Saturday
Today is Mother’s day, just combined the secrets of a mother with the prompt

Amma o amma

Amma was fiddling with the pallu of her sari. Appa came in and asked,’What happened, no coffee, no breakfast and you are sitting here fiddling with your sari?’

‘Visakha has not called since so many days…’

‘Come on, she is a married woman now, she has responsibilities. She can’t keep calling you every now and then. Now go and make some coffee, you know I don’t function well without your coffee’

‘And what will you do if I die tomorrow,’ she said in anger but still got up and went into the kitchen.

‘Then I will search another like you and get married again,’ Appa said and guffawed.

Amma banged a steel tumbler on the kitchen counter.

 

Visakha had been born after a complicated pregnancy and an even more complicated delivery. The umbilical cord had been entangled around her neck and had the C-section not been in time, she would not have survived inside the womb. Her grandmother had lamented that she had a granddaughter but the moment the baby was put in her arms,  she had forgotten everything and had lost herself in the baby.

‘Visakha’, amma thought wth pride. Visakha was a dusky complexioned girl with shining eyes. Very often it were here eyes that did the talking. And her black lustrous hair….. ah…Her Visakha was a gem. She had never been brilliant in studies. So all hopes of her doing the IIT and IIM had been quashed when she was in high school but then she did Montessori course and became a teacher. And the kids loved her so much…

‘Is my coffee ready?’, Appa asked and again amma banged a vessel and then went out with the coffee.

Visakha had been very happy with her job. But four years down the line the school had to close down. A chain of kindergartens called ‘Pratham’ had bought over the school. Although the management had asked all the teachers to meet them Visakha had not gone. She had spent the days crying at the loss. Visakha had a habit of bursting into tears. Her tears were her strength and power. Until Amma fed up of her sobs had screamed at her that if she did not go and meet the new management, she herself would take her there. And Visakha thought it better to go on her own than go with amma.

There was no doubt that she would not be selected. But something else happened. The young GM of the group liked her so much that he sent his parents with the proposal.

There was no reason for saying a ‘no’. The family was good, the boy educated and cultured. And most important both had the same ambition, that of giving a solid foundation to kids.

‘But amma, I do not want to marry now’, Visakha sobbed

‘And when do you plan on getting married. Come on Visakha, he is a good guy and whats more, you can work as a team. Wasn’t it your dream to give quality education for kids’. And so after some cajoling,  Visakha agreed. But from then on there were no tears.

Yes no tears. Even the day she left for her marital home in a different city, there were no tears. And that bothered amma. Not a single,’Amma, I will miss you’ or ‘Amma, how will I manage without you’. Even if she just hugged her and shed two-three tears it would have been enough. But no. She had just taken her hand bag, waved a good-bye and left. HUH.

I mean I am her mother. She used to tell me everything and now almost 15 days are  over and not a single phone or tears…

And then the phone rang. it was Visakha. “amma”, she said in a tearful voice.

‘What happened? Did your m-i-l torture you, did your husband beat you?’, were the questions she asked.

‘No My in laws have gone to some marriage in Mumbai’

‘Then?’

“Amma, this dosa….its not coming out nicely… How do I make a dosa round and crisp’.

And her questions and her voice satisfied amma. Yes, she was needed, yes her Visakha had not changed. yes, yes…

And she began her instructions.

 

*fictitious

To nag or not to nag…

‘Get up, Mukund’, you will be late for school, Arvind…get up…’ It was Puja trying to wake up her son and husband. After a further 20 minutes,  Mukund was on the breakfast table, while Arvind was in the bathroom.

Mukund was playing withthe cereals when Puja came and yelled, ‘What is this Mukund, start eating, as such you are such a slow eater, you will be late for school. And did you keep your Social Text in the bag,’ and when Mukund bent his head, she knew he hadn’t. ‘What is this Mukund,   I have to remind you of this too, why can’t you at least take care of your time table?’

‘Puja’, said Arvind while coming out of the bathroom,’Why are you always after him?’

‘After him? He will not take his book otherwise and why don’ t you hurry up, otherwise you will be late and then you will skip breakfast and race your car’.

‘Alright, alright…’, said Arvind.

Puja returned late from office to see Mukund playing with His darts. On checking his notebook, she came to know that he had not done his homework. ‘Mukund, why have you not done your homework and I am sure you have not prepared for the test.’

‘No’, he said

‘What is this Mukund? Will you do only if I tell you. Come on, you are ten now, be a little responsible, see Shweta, her mom does not have to worry about her at all. Why can’t you take charge of yourself?’

‘Puja, don’t compare’, said Arvind

‘And what about you, it is  your report submission tomorrow and I am sure you have not even started.’

‘I will start Puja as soon as this news gets over’, he said

‘Yes, you will sit till midnight and then won’t be able to get up in the morning’, said Puja

It was almost 1 am when Arvind came to the room to sleep

‘See I told you…’, said Puja

‘Puja, stop it. Don’t be so irritating.’

‘Irritating, me?’, said she

‘Yes. You are always telling us to do this and do that. And just because you are always dictating us, Mukund has never learnt to take any responsibility.’

Puja in shock was not able to say anything and spent the entire night in thought. ‘Was she the culprit’ Will they be able to manage if she did not dictate’ and so on.

The next day onwards Mukund and Arvind saw a changed Puja.

She did not check Mukund’s notes

She did not see if Arvind kept his files properly or whether his reports were ready.

Mukund could play as much as he could.

Arvind could sleep as late as he could and…. could get up as late as he wanted.

After 3-4 days Mukund was swollen faced when Puja came from work. ‘What happened?’, she asked

‘Teacher made me stand for an entire period’, he said

‘Why?’, she asked

‘I forgot to take my English workbook.’

‘Why you forgot?’

‘Mamma you don’t love me, do you? YOu don’t wake me, you don’t remind me’

‘I do love you but I thought you don’t like me nagging’.

At that time Arvind intervene, I did not mean that way Puja’, he said sheepishly, ‘I just said that too much nagging is not good like you can ask us to get up, you can remind us if we have forgotten something, you know that way.’

‘Hmm, said Puja but how will I know how much nagging is enough?’

‘You know say something once or twice and that is enough.’

‘So I should nag?’

‘Yes please….’ cried out both

A mother’s prayer

This post is a continuation of my last post, but at the onset let me clarify that I write about myself not for sympathy or to gain eyeballs but to create awareness. Whenever some situation arises which is not something which we had envisaged for ourselves, we despair and ask ‘Why me?’. Whereas there are very few things which are really in our control, so why lament, take each day as it comes.

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I was hale and hearty, working and had lost 23 kgs. The next I wanted was a baby. I had had a miscarriage earlier and now that everything was going fine, I wanted a baby desperately.

After my annual check up, I was given the green signal but both the neurosurgeon and the endocrinologist made it clear that I would be needing hormonal support as my pituitary gland was not functioning properly.

So upon returning back home we sat down with my gynaecologist and planned. I would be needing injections for support(Merional). And the Dday was to be in September 2005. There would be ultrasounds every alternate day to check on the size of the follicles. every evening I was to take the injections sometimes one ampule, sometimes more. My husband used to inject me at home as he is a healthcare professional adept in medicine dosage, treatment etc. It helped us a lot because he and my gynaec both did a lot research, and it was like the whole of Bahrain rose to support us. The nurses smuggled us good syringes. (it is imperative to get fine quality syringe as it reduces pain. Selling syringes to common people is banned here).

But in spite of all this support, we didn’t get the desired results, sometimes there were multiple follicles, sometimes I swelled up like a balloon, sometimes I would scream at the nurse and the doctors.( the hormones would make me behave irrationally).

By March I had lost heart. It was taking a toll on me. The physical pain was somehow sufferable but what I could not endure was societal pressures as well as the suffering of my husband. I could not see his moist eyes whenever he used to inject me.

And so I said that I wanted to quit. Both My doctor and husband agreed. But come June he convinced me to try for one last time. Around this time My Dr. came to know that there was a new drug (Umagon)in the market but it was a controlled medicine and available ony in select hospital and for select patients. Again our contacts came to our rescue. One injection fell short, it was a friday and our contact was not traceable. SO my husband went to that hospital and tried to convince the pharmacist. He did not budge. So he told him my story. The pharmacist yelled and asked him to go an stand near the entrance. Dejected my husband went and stood as was told. After 10 minutes the pharmacist came and gave him the ampules and what more he refused to take money, saying that if I conceived that would be reward enough.

But I had lost hope, I was supposed to fly in July for vacation and had decided that I would not return home. I was hoping to take up some job in Pune

Meanwhile my brother called up asking my itinerary and hearing my strained voice asked what was the matter. I told him that I was again on injections. He conveyed the same to my mother whose prayers started-‘let her pregnancy confirm when she is in India, if she conceives whilst in Bahrain who will look after her etc’

And so on July 11th I packed up my bags looked around lovingly at the house which we had made a home and left.

But that was the day that there were multiple bombings in Mumbai, I was to go to Mumbai first meet my sister and then proceed, but I had just checked in when my husband called up asking me to come out of the airport, I refused and proceeded.

It was all high tension drama in Mumbai but I made it to my sisters home the next morning. I was subdued but my sis assumed that it was because of the bombings.

I proceeded to Vizag and upon seeing my parents; the dam broke. My mother uttered only one line-Everything is not lost yet.

I returned home 13 months later with a 4 month old son in my arms.

Of the numerous names that my gyanec calls my son two are- ‘ my miracle’ and ‘Krishna prasad’