Chatting with my mother

 

Photos: My mother today; my mother with her first-born, a daughter; my father; my mother (second from left) with her siblings who have all passed away 

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Whenever I go to my mother’s room, I am happy to see that she is always dressed well. It’s a habit my father had. And the kids have picked it up, especially me. 

Nowadays, she recites a two-line verse in Malayalam from her childhood. ‘Amma, Amma, I am going/If you don’t see me, don’t get worried.’ 

“What is the meaning?” I asked her.

My mother said, “We would say this just before we left for school. There were Britishers in our town of Muvattupuzha. There was talk that they kidnapped the boys but left the girls alone.” 

Once, on a visit to a nearby rural area, she pointed out the plants around us. “That is jackfruit cultivation going on,” she said, pointing with her index finger. “Those are banana plants. Look at the tall coconut trees. Right next to them are newly planted coconut plants.”

I said, “Do you think the small coconut plants may be telling the tall trees, ‘Amma, Amma, I am going / If you don’t see me, don’t be worried’?”

My mother laughed, tapped my elbow and said, “Don’t be silly.” 

On the cusp of 89, my mother forgets things quickly. But the old memories remain intact. 

“My husband was a good man,” she said. “Appachan looked after me with so much care and affection. I was very lucky. In those days, men treated their wives roughly. But your father was always gentle with me.” 

My mother paused and said, “Now Appachan is in a good place.” 

My father, ten years older, died on February 18, 2021, at the age of 94.  

My mother also praised her own father. “I will never forget that when my father wanted to scold me, he would never do it in public. He would take me aside and speak to me gently.” 

My mother was indeed lucky. Two of the primary influences in a woman’s life – a father and husband – had been good to her. As I looked at my mother, I couldn’t help thinking how vulnerable women are to a man’s violence. Women have little defence, even though the laws against gender violence have become stronger. But how many women, except for a certain strata, know about these laws? 

My mother likes to read the newspaper. She told me she kept me on her lap when I was a baby and read the newspaper. “You were a quiet baby,” she said. “You made no noise.” It’s a habit she passed on to me. Even now, I devote my early mornings silently reading the newspaper with a cup of tea. I will always thank my mother for my love of reading.  

In her room, my mother pointed to a news scroll at the bottom of a television screen. Then she said, “Can you read Malayalam?” 

I shook my head and said, “We were in Calcutta.” 

She looked at her middle-aged son and said, “I should have taught you when you were a child.” 

There was regret in her voice. 

I remained silent, as I pondered over what she said.  

My mother showed me a family photo taken in the 1940s. When I peered closer, to my shock, I realised she was the only one alive. Seven of her siblings had already passed away. Time kills everyone, I thought. It will kill my mother, me, and all those close to us. 

My mother has aged well. There are not too many wrinkles. Touch wood, she has no major health problems. She takes no tablets at all. Both of us are shy about showing emotion. But I compensate by trying to reveal emotion when I write.  

One day, I woke up with a thought: This good-hearted woman carried me for nine months and brought me safely into the world and cared for me till I grew up. How great women are!  

(Published in rediff.com)