The Story Of My Mother

“During days of emergency”, my maternal grandmother had once said to me “your mother had become a firebrand in her college. She used to address large number of students outside her college about the ills of emergency. A rebel she was then”. I loved this narration of my mother. I had heard this many a times from my granny. Every time I portrayed my mother in my mind as a young and courageous rebel girl, firmly standing with her chin up, shouting  aloud from atop a truck, refusing to cow down against anyone.

This very image had come once again vividly before my eyes on the day her husband died. With all courage and might she pulled her chin up against the tyranny of life. She refused to be cow down, again.

A month earlier our parents celebrated their 25^th anniversary. About a month later her life’s companion had parted ways forever. The road of life has its unexpected bends and my mother happened to negotiate the sharpest and the toughest turn of her life on that bright summer day. My brother, sister and I were about to reach Dhanbad, from Delhi, where we pursued our graduation. My mother was preparing breakfast for all of us. My father was ecstatic with the prospect of a family reunion. He was washing his car when he suffered a terrible heart attack. In a minute he felled down as my mother rushed to hold him affirm. She and a maid held him firmly as she shouted for help. A neighbour arranged a car and holding his head on her lap she took him to a hospital only to find that the past few minutes that she spent with him were the last few minutes that they spent together. She had already lost him. The news was broken to her by my brother, after we reached the hospital an hour later. In my entire life that was the only day I saw her crying. She had seen enough struggles before and she would see many struggles after, but never ever I saw the lady shed a tear again. But that day when the dearest person to her was gone forever, she cried. She cried till she realised that we would need her all the more now. So she sat there on a bench, held three of us close to her, calming us, caressing us, protecting us, assuring us in quivering yet firm voice that all will be good, that she will be our father henceforth and sobbing incessantly for the largest void created in her life, that will never ever be filled again. Against the life’s plan for devastation, on that fateful day, she showed defiance. Amidst sea of sorrow on that day she chose happiness for us.

For the next many years she lived alone in Dhanbad, as we completed our education and secured good jobs. Never ever she demanded us to stay back with her for she told that our career will decide our future and the past is past.

I wonder how easily she adapts to each phase of life. She tells us how before her marriage she was admitted to Gaya University for pursuing post graduation. A month had passed by when she was told that her marriage is fixed. That was in 1981, when career and ambitions didn’t matter much in a middle class family. She was called back and married. My mother regrets till this day how if she should have at least completed her post graduation she could have become a lecturer.

Probably my father had not a stable job then. She went to Patna with him and stayed in a single room rented accommodation. Once when her mother came to visit them in Patna they had barely any money. My mother often recalls with a smile on her face, how then she broke the gullack to get some money and buy flour for them. Then after few years my parents returned to Dhanbad and settled with the family of my father’s elder brother. Those were the days when my father looked around for a stable government job and by then they were already parent of two kids. The equations of my mother didn’t go well with the family of my uncle. And on one rainy day, when my father was not around, she was just asked to leave the house. With two kids along, she was left to fend for herself before my father came and took them to another place. Her simple dream to have a stable and normal family life continued till my father found a government job in 1988. Retrospectively it may seem easy but what she has endured over the years requires courage.

I wonder how difficult it would have been for her in transition from an outspoken university student to a sublime house maker. How difficult it would have been for her to suppress her feeling and ambition to follow the norms enforced on her. How difficult it would have been for her to transition from a carefree young girl to a responsible mother of three and a caring wife.

In my living memory my mother has always been the symbol of happiness and strength for our family. She has savoured each moment of life till now and never complains about the past. She has donned so many roles in our lives that I think whether it is appropriate to call her just ‘mother’. She has tutored us, fed us, dressed us, fought for us, and protected us. She has actively rehearsed kathak with my sister prior to school competitions, stayed awake till late night so that we don’t sleep before our exams and then woke up early morning before us to send us well to school. Her favourite quote is “Burn like a candle and light the whole world”. I remember because this is what she told me to speak during a morning school assembly for thought-of-the-day. In our darkest times she became the candle that lit our whole world.

After demise of our father she has never shown a sign of weakness. My sister’s kanyadaan in her marriage was done by my mother that annoyed the elderly males. Kanyadaan is done by the bride’s father in our tradition and in absence of him by the eldest male member. She told that she is the father of the girl and she is the mother.

Even today at the age of 62 we derive strength from her. She practically knows that life has mixed gifts for all of us. So whenever we are in trouble she still presents that same spirit of fearlessness and stands beside us till she has sailed us through.

Two months back she opened a primary school in a tribal area in Jharkhand. Undeterred by the local resistance, she took the mantle to teach the tribal children. What seemed difficult to me then was so easy for my mother. I had reservations about the success of that school; my mother was assured that she would have it her way. The tribal men and women resisted the opening of an english medium school in their locality. Words went round that she was there to convert the religions of tribe in the garb of education. Once again she set her foot down and went door to door to each family convincing them about the need of proper education for their child. Her perseverance has shown results. Now she has hired two young tribal girls and another convent educated teacher for several kids. The no-profit school which I thought would be difficult to run is now in full swing. She has now plans to teach basic stitching and tailoring courses to the young tribal girls.

My mother’s life story has inspired other women in our locality. She still stays alone in Dhanbad, scolds us on phone when we don’t listen to her, runs her school, laughs along with her friends, still treads the memories laden road of her beloved city and recalls the best days of her life that she spent with her husband.