“A mother-in-law can never be your mother. If you remember that your life will be a bliss”, these words were softly spoken in my ear by none other than my mother. It was four in the morning and after a whole day and night packed with rituals; my mind and body were out of sync. To say I was tired would be an understatement. I was so exhausted that I could have slept standing. I was about to step in the car, a shiny black Honda Accord (now covered in a curtain of pink orchids) gifted by my father, that would take me to my future home when these words of wisdom were parted by my mother. I was taken aback at her choice of words but in the excitement and haste of beginning a new life I did not pay much heed to her. I simply hugged her and my younger brother while I briefly nodded at my father standing next to me. I hated teary farewells. The next few months passed in a frenzy of settling down in a new household with strangers, innumerable dinners and lunches and meeting and meeting zillions of relatives and friends.
One day as I was sitting with my mother-in-law watching a popular soap opera where a cunning mother-in-law was planning to get rid of her innocent daughter-in-law by throwing her off the terrace. The poor girl’s only fault was that she was not her mother-in-law’s choice of a bride for her beloved son. I was immediately reminded of the words that my mother had told me minutes after my wedding.
“Why would she have said such a thing to me?” I wondered. “Is she trying to sabotage my happiness by turning me against my mother-in-law?” A hundred questions fleeted through my mind.
My husband’s mother was a gem of a person. She had been so patient and genuinely caring towards me that I had taken to her in no time. Hence, those piercing words irked me all the more because of their inaptness.
My mother was a well balanced lady. She had a matured and practical outlook towards life. She had taught her children good values of life. This was something completely out of her character. There had to be a reason behind it. I promised myself to find that out soon.
My mother had delivered twins. Both girls. I was the elder one. My identical younger sister stayed alive in this world for 2 hours 50 minutes before she succumbed to a fatal lung failure. I had no knowledge of this till the time I turned twenty-seven when I came to know from one of my paternal aunts. This too has a story attached to it. I will tell that when we come to it.
My mother was happy to see me but she was a little disappointed on not giving birth to a son first. She had always thought that her first born would be a son. There was a reason behind it too. In a Marwari household, a son gave an upper hand to the lady of the house. People respected her more as she had given the family an heir to carry on the lineage. Now, she would constantly be on her toes during her second pregnancy. If the second fetus was not a boy, she would seriously have to consider other options. Her gynecologist seemed a nice enough lady. She would surely understand if my mother explained her woes to her.
Luckily for her, she delivered a baby boy after seven years of my birth. My grandparents threw a lavish party to celebrate the birth of their heir. The who’s who of Mumbai was invited and there was a festive air in the house. My mother looked more relaxed and happy than I had seen her in a very long time. My father was on the cloud 9 and he celebrated it with his friends at the bar with unending rounds of drinks.
That was a big turning point in my life because after that it was only my mother who seemed to be around us. She would feed us, cater to our needs, attend our school PTA and help in our homework. It would be days before we saw our father. He would be busy either traveling or drinking with his friends. One night he came home from one of his drinking binges and started shouting and cussing the servants, my mother and grandparents. I woke up from the sleep and was terribly terrified of the whole scene. My mother saw me and to protect me from witnessing such a dirty scene started pacifying my father. My father in his drunken stupor slapped my mother hard. The impact was so huge that she stumbled and fell and hit her forehead on the centre table. She still carries a silvery white scar on one of her temples. That scene created an everlasting impression on my young mind. From that day, I started hating my father. I not only stopped talking to him but also ignored him whenever he was around which was far and few in my growing years.
My only support system was my mother. She was the only constant feature in my life. I loved her a lot. And in my own way, I would try to compensate for my father’s boorish behavior by being extra nice to her. In the passing years, our bond became stronger. I would share all my problems including my teenage anguishes with her. I was closer to her than my closest friends. There was nothing that I would hide from her. And she would give me the best advice as only a mother can do.
My father, meanwhile, due to his excessive drinking had damaged his liver. It was a big jolt for my mother and grandparents. As far as I was concerned, I couldn’t have cared less if he had died. That would be the least the God could do to save my mother from the traps of an unhappy marriage. But being a God-fearing Indian wife, my mother prayed and fasted for the well being of my father. Her prayers were answered soon and she took my father to London for his liver transplant.
One good thing that came out of this whole mess was that my father returned a reformed man. He stopped drinking and took over the business reins from my grandfather. He even started taking interest in the household and his children. My brother who was still young and impressionable was totally taken in by his charm. My mother too looked happy and radiant. But too much water had passed under the bridge for me to forget and forgive him.
I was of marriageable age and started getting some good proposals from eligible bachelors. Even after two years of meeting scores of men and their family, no proposal culminated into a wedding. They would say, “The girl is so pretty. If only she had been a little taller and had a fuller figure!” That would hurt in spite of its trueness. But my mother would console me and give me the confidence to lift myself up after each rejection.
My paternal aunt from Guwahati was visiting us one summer. After hearing of so many rejections from innumerous guys, she told my mother in my presence.
“You should thank your lucky stars that only one of your girls survived. Just imagine how much more trouble you and my poor brother would have had to undergo to marry off the second girl too.” My mother was hurt by the venom in her words but having been conditioned well in the last 30 years of her marriage she knew it was best to ignore such remarks.
But I was shocked. Nobody in my life had ever mentioned of a sister. That night I cried for my dead sister for a life that she could not live and also for my mother for a child she could not bring up and love.
And then finally one day I got engaged to this handsome young man from Delhi. The entire family was happy but nothing could have outshone the light of happiness in my mother’s eyes. After the engagement, the days flew away in the frantic schedule of shopping, festivals, dinners and lunches with my fiancé and future in-laws. Seeing me happy my mother would be happy as well.
Even after a year of my wedding, whenever I would come home to visit my mother, she would subtly ask me if I was happy and contented in my new home and relationships. She would be delighted when I told her how loving my husband was and how supportive my in-laws were.
A couple of years after my wedding, I came to know that I was pregnant. My husband and parents-in-law were over the moon with this news. When she came to know about it, my mother’s joy knew no bounds either. During the entire 9 months, both mothers; one biological and other by relation, took good care of me. I was due on 8th August on completion of the 40th week. Due to a complication, my gynecologist had already warned me of a delivery by C-Section. I was even advised to take ample rest in the last month. And one more hiccup was that just 2 weeks before my delivery date my mother-in-law was traveling abroad with her friends to Cyprus and Malta. This she had done after much coaxing from me and my husband.
“Mummy, it is only for ten days. And my due date will still be four to five days away by the time you return from the trip”, I told her.
“I am not sure. Will you be ok in my absence?” My mother-in-law still had some reserves about going to this trip. “Even your mother will not be in town during that period.” That was true. My cousin was getting married in Kathmandu. And coincidentally my mother was traveling during the same period as my mother-in-law was.
“Please don’t worry. I will take good care of myself. And you go and enjoy yourself with your friends.” After that she finally relented.
“It’s just that it’s the last month and I want you to be extra careful.” To which I assured her I would.
By the time the travel date approached, she was so excited like a child that it was difficult to contain her. Alas, problems always crop up when least expected.
On the day of her travel, my blood pressure went abnormally high and I had to be hospitalized. My doctor said that she would supervise me for a few hours before operating. On one side was my health and on the other was my mother-in-law’s trip. On seeing her long face, I felt bad for her. When she came to my side, I told her very calmly, “Mummy, you go ahead with your trip. You have made so many plans, it would all go to waste otherwise”.
I could see the array of emotions playing on her face; despair, frustration, indecisiveness.
“You are right, my child. But how will it look before our friends and relatives when they come to know that I left you at such an important junction”, she was full of regret.
At that moment I realized how badly she wanted to go to this trip. She was more worried about the social disgrace than me. She was more excited about her sojourn than her grandchild. That hurt. But seeing her crestfallen face, I made a decision.
“Do not worry, mummy. Please do not think too much about others. I will ask my mom to come over”, I assured her.
“Are you sure?” Her face lit up. “But what about your mother’s trip?” She again resumed a gloomy look on her face.
“I will take care of it. You please go ahead, mummy. It’s getting late; you will miss your flight.”
She looked at her watch and immediately sprang into action. She kissed my forehead and said, “Thanks so much. I will wait for the news of my grandchild and bring horde of gifts for the baby.”
My husband who was a witness to the entire scene came up to me and kissed me when he saw the tears flowing down my cheeks. I would have felt guilty on keeping her against her will.
Wasting no time he called up my mother. She was at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport about to board her flight. When she learnt about the incident, she cancelled her trip and immediately came to see me at the hospital. She stayed the whole time with me murmuring soothing words into my ears and allaying my fears. The one thing that I realized before going into labor was “my mother is irreplaceable”.
