I rummage through the unkempt wardrobe, son’s school uniform seems to have vanished into thin air. The cook’s late arrival makes it a challenge to cope, and she’s never short of excuses. She busies herself preparing kid’s tiffin, as I find the crumpled uniform.
“Could you iron this, I need to check his bag and books.” I almost throw the uniform at my husband.
The phone chimes, it’s a Good Morning greeting from Mom. I make an exasperated face, running late as usual, I postpone the reply.
Half an hour more and I pack off the kid, his bag and his lunch.
Amidst the morning race, I realize I’ve forgotten my half-drunk cup of tea. The chaos, the muddle are a lot to bear.
“When will I be granted one day of rest?” I call out loud enough for my husband to hear. It’s not like he doesn’t share the chores but it needs persistent reminding and endless laments.
A message from Ma flashes, Call me when Free. Oh, I’d forgotten, again.
Before I place the call, my mind travels back in time. We were three siblings, father was ever-busy, and my grandparents were old and frail. Ma would be in the kitchen all the while, rushing around, her temper always in check. No maid or cook were let into our orthodox household, she managed all by herself. Humming gentle tunes, brimming with energy, she made sure all were well taken care of. Our fulcrum, never did she let us crumble.
I call her, she answers in a jiffy.
“He left happy? How long before you leave for office?” Ma quips.
“It’s alright, I’m logging in late today. How often I wish I could quit my job, I might, very soon. Can’t handle work and home.” I whine.
“Don’t say that, kids grow up eventually and their demand for attention reduces. Financial independence is important these days.” Ma corrects me.
I change the subject, “How did you do it Ma? Everything under the sun, but you never complained. I grumble at the slightest of chores, I’m endlessly exhausted, how were you so strong.”
“So, you believe women who take all perils in their stride without calling out for help are strong? You have any inkling how many silent tears I shed when your father refused to let me follow my passion for Bharatnatyam? And when I was forever taken for granted? All women I knew had domestic help, but none of that for me. And I didn’t speak up, because I was raised to believe that good wives don’t complain, don’t rebel, don’t disobey. Tell me, have I ever nurtured such thoughts in you?” I can feel her voice rise.
“But Ma….” I try to interject.
“Now listen to me carefully. Working, or at home, you are not a servant without pay. Expecting other members of your family to share your everyday tasks is not grumbling. I don’t want you to emulate me, rather learn from my mistakes. I was wrong, I stifled my own voice when I should have spoken up. Promise me, come what may, you will prioritize yourself, achieve your goals, realize your dreams and call out when needed. Because only a Happy You can keep your family happy.” Ma asserts, calmly.
I sigh, tiny and feeble on the exterior, she was strong back then and even stronger now.
By Preethi Warrier
Preethi Warrier has completed her Masters in Electronics Engineering and is an Assistant Professor. She is one among the winners of the TOI Write India Campaign Season-1, for the famous author Anita Nair. She can be contacted at : warrier.preethi@yahoo.com
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