An Umbilical Bond

Dear Mummy, 

You must be wondering why I have written a letter to you when we live under the same roof. You know that I best express my feelings when I pen them down. Hence, my humble attempt to encapsulate what you mean to me – my universe. 

From where shall I begin our story? From the beginning? You tell me I was just six months old when I started calling out “Maa.” I did not understand the concept of your job, of course, just the anxiety of separation. So, when you would return from medical duty, I would howl for two hours, and you had to soothe me to calmness. Little did I know at that time how our destinies would be entangled beyond conventional interdependence. 

In fact, much about our relationship was unconventional, given the norms of the 1980s. Since you were in the medical profession, you had little time at your personal disposal. You chose not to devote that time to the kitchen but to spend quality time with my sibling and me. We never had the privilege of having food cooked by you, but we always had an ear to unburden our insecurities into. 

You and Papa had deliberately made a decision. For various reasons, he couldn’t land a job. His business idea also failed. Since you had completed your medical degree, you both decided that you would be the family’s breadwinner, while Papa would take care of us as he built his political portfolio. He would attend our Parents’ and Teachers’ meetings and drop us off at tuitions. I recall the only time you came to school for the PTM in class 5, and that day I ranked first in class for the first time – I called you my lucky mascot and wanted you to accompany me all the time, but of course, that was not possible. 

In the ICSE board exams, I scored 91% and took up science in class 11. However, I missed studying English and History as all the time was taken up by the science subjects. You wanted me to become a doctor like you, but you did not bat an eyelid when I told you that I wanted to switch over to the humanities. You just called Papa and told him to write an application to the principal to that effect. I am forever grateful to you for not imposing your aspirations on me, unlike many Indian parents. 

When I joined Miranda House, differences in our thoughts began to surface. We could not see eye to eye on many ideologies and concepts. For example, you were strongly homophobic while I had some gay friends. You feared that I would turn into a lesbian, and I had to assure you that I was attracted to men. I was not too keen on marriage due to patriarchal injunctions, but like all Indian parents, you wanted me to marry and ‘settle down’ with my life partner. 

I did marry a man of your choice, but everyone knows what havoc it caused. Initially, you told me to adjust; you were against divorce. However, when I walked out of the marriage after 4 months, you stood by me against the whole world, even against the extended family. You had changed – you saw for yourself that it would never work. I know how much pain it caused you, almost as much as it caused me. You were helpless when I would weep in front of you. Do you know a secret? I wanted to commit suicide, but I didn’t do self-harm only because I knew the pain it would inflict on you. My life became entwined with yours. You never forced me to remarry. 

The only mission in your life then was to find a cure to my depression and bring laughter back to my face. After two failed attempts, we finally found our psychiatrist in Chandigarh, far away from our hometown. But you committed to him that we would fly there as often as was needed for my treatment, for I was diagnosed with bipolar anxiety disorder, social anxiety disorder and acute depression, besides suicidal ideation. 

Had it been just this, it would still have been fine. But God was testing you. My brother got married just before the COVID lockdown, and his marriage also broke down. How disheartening it must have felt to you, both of our kids going through divorce for different reasons? I know that you didn’t say anything, but I could feel that you had lost any enthusiasm for life – you didn’t want to celebrate any festivals or meet anyone. While mine was a mutual divorce, his was a long, drawn-out one – it took 5 years to finalise. 

On the other hand, Papa was chronically ill. You had to take care of him, too. In the process, you yourself fell ill and were hospitalized twice. It was then that I rose to the occasion and decided to take matters into my hands, taking care of both you and Papa while he had dialysis. The tables had turned – from being dependent on you, you started depending on me. I was almost cured because of your predicament. 

Perhaps the biggest shock we got as a family was Papa’s sudden and inexplicable demise last year. We were up a stump. You were drowning in disbelief and sorrow, while Puneet had to take care of paperwork, and I had to be emotionally present for you. It was a hectic, chaotic 2026 for us. 

I know it very well that had I not been living with you, you would have passed away within days of Papa. You have changed your focus to taking care of yourself so that you may live as long as possible with me. After all, my umbilical cord has not yet broken. Our lives are entangled with each other, and will remain so till death do us part. 

Your loving daughter, 

Richa. 

By Richa Verma

Richa is an online English teacher, independent blogger, voracious reader, movie buff who is smitten with wanderlust, and a homemaker. She can be contacted through her email address richavermamh@gmail.com