Indian Woman…

When i write about my impressions on growing up in India, the memories come back to me in bits and pieces…whatever i have shared so far is far from being compehensive…just some random thoughts as and how they resurface…it may have to do with my frame of mind…emptiness on some days to a whirlpool of emotions the others to mundane duties yet another…will keep on adding more from time to time…

An Indian Woman…hmm…a few words to describe her…mysterious, alluring, fascinating, caring, motherly, beautiful, shy, self-abnegating, dutiful…none of these words are exclusive to an Indian woman, and yet they do justice to her as a whole, by trying to contain her aura, in different roles, and uniting her to the existence at large…

Indian woman as a mother:
janani janmabhoomisch swargadapi gariyasi…
(from sanskrit…mother and motherland are nobler than the heavens…)

The earliest memories i have of my mother is the scent of her body when she would cuddle me up in her arms or press me to her breasts…I remember her scent being singular, making me feel secure and loved instantly, ensconced in her warmth…the other memory i have is watching her cry by my bedside when i lay suspended between life and death following an accident, i was just six…she would relentlessly do her duties at home, take care of my sister, and travel twenty kilometers by bus to the hospital to be by my side, every single day, never tiring (maybe, i do not remember, with visible signs of fatigue but unrelenting in spirit), never complaining, never relaxing…an amazing show of strength and being a mother myself now, i am sure she must have spent her nights crying in her pillow seeing her child suffer…on a more routine level, she dressed us for the school; prepared our snack boxes in the morning; after our departure for the school, she would work alongside the maid and the janitor to clean the house; wash the clothes and give the clothes for ironing to the dhobi; served us hot, freshly prepared lunch on our return from the school, helped us with our homework, then caught up with the women of the neighbourhood …standing at the gate of our house or seated on a charpai on the lawn, chit-chatting, discussing life, children, household help and what have you…never tired, talking or being talked to :)…come evening, preparing for the dinner…and then, retiring for the day…I also remember her thrifty ways to make the most value of money by giving us home-made ketchups, pickles; always bargaining for the best deal with vegetable and fruit vendors (in India, that is still the practice and i personally derive a perverse pleasure at being able to negotiate a better value for my money!); being frugal in spending on herself or on entertainment; stitching our clothes herself to save the money at the tailors’; walking a few kilometers, carrying loadful of shopping bags to save money instead of taking a rickshaw; spending hours at end in the kitchen, preparing sweets and other delicacies during festive season, instead of buying them from the market; organizing well in advance for any auspicious occasion in the family so as not to burden the single income coming from my father’s job…the list is endless…the lessons are endless and probably so subtle that, unless told otherwise, i just don’t realize how much have i learned from her and have come to be like her…

I have to admit that there have been times, more often than not, i would have wished for her to spend some time on herself, comparing her to my always presentable teachers and moms of some of my classmates, wishing my mother was more beautiful, articulate and not so simple in her ways… when i started to earn, this wish took a more benevolent turn, of wanting to have her spend some time on herself, by relaxing and not toiling in the kitchen, yet to save some pennies or to prepare what she had to, with love…unconditional love, untiring love, flowing…never stopping to think of herself…sacrificing….silently….

I am aware that i can never be like her to my own daughter…my understanding of her has deepened ever since i have become a mother myself…so many small things and thoughtful gestures she made, which at the time, i was not able to decipher, that have come to be so significant in placing her love, beyond definition, to that which is so subliminally unconditional….today, i wish that she would forgive me for all the pain i have given her in being so unrelenting and stubborn, in being inconsiderate and ego-centric that i forgot, while asserting myself, that she is a person in her own right and not just my mom… though our different way of thinking still remains, but i am happy with it and do not struggle to have her conform to my thoughts or be conformed to hers…today, when i need to be comforted, i have to hear her soothing and reassuring voice to tell me that everything is the same…her love for me is just the same, never changing….and today, i know that my mother is a very beautiful woman…i would not want her to be anyone else…though i would always wish for her to devote some time to herself, for herself, to be happy even when i look into those eyes wherein hides her pain, wherein her vulnerability is laid open, the reminders of her age, of her youth spent in nurturing those who she touched…

abla jeevan hai tumhari yehi kahaani, aanchal mein hai dhoodh, aankhon mein hai paani…
o hapless woman, such is your plight, nourishing with (your) milk, tears in your eyes…
So said the poet Jai Shankar Prasad on Indian mother.

I remember someone telling me that it is a woman’s instinct to ‘mother’ the man in her life…I did not think about it then, just nodding in silent agreement…but now, i beg to differ…A woman is a mother to all, a man in her life or not…a mother’s love is a flow…not defined by boundaries…not defined by what or from whom she can get it in return…love encompasses all…from a mother to a child, any child willing to receive…mother earth…mother nature…no confines…no definitions…vasudev kutumbakam…the universe is family…That’s a mother, for you and me…and going by what i have seen at close quarters in my own family, with friends, colleagues, etc. the dimension of being a mother is the most distinct and overpowering feature of that which is exquisitely feminine in India…

It is interesting to note that the role of an Indian woman, as a mother, is venerable, compared to her other roles, though India is largely a patriarchal society. With my limited understanding, i would not dare to delve deeper into the reasons, though i am inclined to believe that it might have its roots in the religion. The divine feminine in the Hindu pantheon of Gods and Goddesses, is usually called ‘the Mother’. Ma is the personification of sakti or the feminine energy, which nurtures, when motherly, and which has the destructive potential when not in a nurturing relationship…on a more earthly level, the ‘mothering’ turns to ’smothering’…:)

As a head of the family, a woman, often widowed, commands the same respect as would have been conferred to her male counterpart. No important decisions are taken without her sanction and it would augur well for everyone in the family to respect and obey her. Here, it might even give the image of her being the female monarch, over her little kingdom of family, to which, she does justice with regal airs…In some areas, notably Kerala, Bengal and Meghalaya, women, in general, enjoy more respect and power, than do their counterparts elsewhere in India. In these primarily matriarchal and matrilineal societies, children inherit the surname of their mothers and have a right to her property. There might be other exceptions of some local cult in remote villages or tribes etc.

Starting with an account of my own mother, and then an impersonal account of the status of an Indian mother across the society, the thread of my thoughts would not be united without an account of my own tryst with motherhood…Having said all that comes to the top of my mind on the subject of an Indian mother in particular, i do not know how far does that define me…i have never really fitted in a given frame of definition, always a toe out of the line or a rebellious streak there…the lessons that i carry with me are something that touch my core, even if subconsciously, something which has made an impression on me, despite its origin, in a positive way…in this case, i have my very loving Indian parents to blame…:)

A friend who had just given birth to her baby, on being asked how she felt, told me that it was only after becoming a mother that she felt complete. When pregnant, i struggled with the strangeness of the situation, bringing another being into this world…how would she be like…would she be ebony-skinned like me…would she have some Indian heritage being passed through the genes…would she be intelligent, kind, independent, assertive, make good choices in her career, her choice of men (yes, that too!)…all within this head of mine, going on for months when feeling my baby through the walls of my belly…her little foot here, a little kick there…sometimes undulating movements across my belly suggested she was turning inside…listening to your mom’s unstoppable train of thoughts, was it? you cute little devil! …I had no idea what to expect and how would i be able to cope with the motherhood of which i had no experience, except perhaps, second-hand…

It is you r who has chosen me to be your mother…when you entered this world, you were placed in my arms and you looked straight into my eyes and at that moment, the mother in me was born…the moment when you looked at me for the first time, right into my eyes, with those big eyes of yours, at the same time questioning and trusting me that i would love you forever…that moment will remain etched in my consciousness for as long as i remain…I do not know if God would decide for me to be a mother yet again to a seed of love…you will always, always, remain with me, even where no words would do justice…

“you are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth…
let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
for even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.”- Kahlil Gibran