Mother

This is about my mother who is no more. She always lived a life of her own choosing. Stoic, many would say....stubborn I could argue. She was extremely beautiful and remained petite and lovely till her last days until disease ate into her.

Mother always had extraordinarily strong opinions on everything relevant to her circle. Her husband, her children, their home, the dog, the plants, the friends they courted...they were all her domain. Pop, a hardworking government servant of a power corporation had gladly parted reins to her as he had least interest in 'being in control' unlike most Indian Dads. Mother would decide what's best for everyone in the house, she would tell each of us what to wear, how to sit, eat, brush our teeth, comb our hair and even got Pop to shed his white slacks-shirt combo to colored shirts and safari suits. Be it said that no one complained; mainly because she took such pride in her carefully cultivated subjects and cared for each of them in her little kingdom. She knew truly little outside of that circle. She was a housekeeper par excellence and a great cook. Indian women were brought up to be great housekeepers and moms.

The children grew up and flew the nest. Three of us siblings moved to different cities. Pop and Mother slowly settled into an idyllic routine and content was their word. Pop was waiting for the year of retirement after which they were both looking forward to spending time at our native town. But fate had other things in store for Mother. Out of the blue one evening ,while out on their usual scooter ride, they were hit by a speeding car. Pop fought for his life for 12 days , but couldn't make it and mother spent long painful months in surgery and therapy. After a few years with children and treatment, she retired to their native town to live alone in the large mansion which Pop had built to her taste and liking. She was broken and lonely inside, but bold and strong on the outside. To all who visited her, she said she was fine and was destined to live with memories. She was proud and generous and lived well above her means.

A constant visitor to her mansion those days was a greying bald tall man who came driving his own car. He was well known in the locality as a doctor who had grown up in the same neighborhood as mother and her siblings. They shared a lot of common acquaintances and mother though initially had disapproved of him calling on her, started to enjoy his visits. Some days when I visited her and found Doctor uncle visiting, I could make out her subtle preparations for his arrival. I found this oddly endearing. Doctor uncle had remained single and was from an elite well respected family. They had very little pleasantries to exchange when he walked in and conversation between them just seemed to pick up from where they had earlier left off. Sometimes he stayed for a simple lunch. Bidding goodbye was also without ceremony. He would just get up, smooth down the creases on his cotton shirt, nod at her and walk to his car and drive away. I feel the word 'dignified' has not suited anyone else I know as well.

Mother's life went on at our hometown for over a decade. We visited during holidays and I remember she had the same meticulous care she had when we were kids. There were times when she fell ill and was hospitalised. Doctor uncle visited her all the times. Then there was a time when he had a fall and was immobilised for over three months. I remember she was deeply concerned but too bound by social graces to make a trip to visit. On one of my visits, one day I made up my mind to ask her if Doctor uncle meant enough to her to think of a possible relationship. She responded with a haughty stare at me and gave me a single answer. 'Are you out of your mind?'

She retained her stoic and regal façade for the next few years till she was bedridden by severe osteoporosis and arthritis and had to be moved to my home for better care. I really do not remember saying goodbye to Doctor uncle. At our place, Mother remained strict and disciplined even when laid up and was only partially mobile. Every now and then she would talk to her old friends on her mobile which her grandson had gifted her and taught to use. She would rest on her wheelchair by the window spelling out recipes for us. One day she got a letter from one of her cronies with usual updates which she usually read out aloud to me. This time she stopped after a page and sat silent for a few minutes. I turned to see what stopped her and saw her hands trembling. I gently took the letter from her hands to read the rest. Doctor uncle had passed away that last week and funeral rites had been held at his ancestral home. I left her alone with her mourning. Mother visibly shrunk after that incident.

A year later, after a brief renal failure Mother passed away. She left a void which I can never fill. I visited our hometown to do the annual maintenance of our parents' house and I visited my aunt, my mother’s sister, who was  bedridden. She talked long about missing my mother, her favourite sister and mentor. On an impulse I asked her about Doctor Uncle. Her response was a shock to me and still is. Apparently these two had secretly loved each other, barely expressed it, but had no courage to tell their parents of how they felt. When Pop's family had sought marriage of their eldest son with mother, Grandfather had gone ahead and accepted and fixed the wedding dates. Nobody even thought of asking the ‘bride-to-be’ her acceptance. Back in those days, keeping their word was honoured more than life itself and pride of families were paramount. Rest I could imagine, Uncle stayed a bachelor despite numerous matches coming his way.

I left my hometown that day with a heavy heart, laden by the memories of these two proud souls. I carry them with me till date. I have asked this to myself so many times. Why lock out happiness and love when all you need to do is embrace them? I suppose I can never find an answer to that.