How many of us would have known more than one mother? Well, I have. She did not give birth to me, but nurtured me just as a mother would. I was her cradle child right from the moment I came into this world. We loved, fought, hated too - it was a vicious cycle we thoroughly reveled in. While my parents were busy at work, it was she who kept a hawk's eye on brother and me, while we did our best to give her the slip! There were many nights when she whisked sleepy eyed us to her modest house a few kilometers away - to her world, her people, for the much awaited 'Shanimatma' plays staged on the streets...there was magic in the air when the leelas of Shani and Krishna came alive for us at the crack of dawn. I would wake up with a start, having fallen asleep on her lap, seeing strange people around me, but one look at her and the reassurance was enough.
I still feel her touch when she used to wash my thick hair with love, and painstakingly removed the tangles keeping impatient me regaled with stories of 'Neelima - a reincarnation', and Dalimba Devi, the princess who emerged from Dalimbe hannu or the pomegranate fruit..
If mom and dad were responsible for the book bug, then she was an equal partner in crime with her storytelling skills, transporting me to a world of fairies, princes-princesses, haunted houses, evil spirits of unfulfilled souls, mostly women (yes, semi-lettered that she was, she was a feminist with a passion for the unknown, dark forces too.
I still remember the walks to and fro from home to school and back with her..Well, she was a gutsy, fiery woman who did not brook nonsense beyond a point. The story goes that she walked right into my brother's classroom one day and demanded justice for him from his class teacher, when she was convinced that he had done no wrong. Now, that was some feat considering she was dealing with snooty ladies in one of the city's elitist schools in the early '80's:)
I still recall the eagerness with which she awaited all the early DD soaps and shows we loved to watch. The little imp that I was, I insisted my dinner was done and my bed ready, I would want to snuggle in, just in time for Yeh Jo Hain Zindagi, so that the minute it got over, I could drop off to sleep then and there - she used to watch every episode with wide eyes and began to understand a fair amount of Hindi, over a period of time, much to our amusement..Bully me, I used to tease and rag her relentlessly with "so what did that mean, and what did this mean?." Unfazed, she would give quick, sharp, witty answers, that resulted in loud endless peals of laughter, as I clapped my hands in sheer glee at having met my first victim and match! If mom was an early childhood hero, so was she; there were strong undercurrents of female power in the household, dad's powerful, authoritarian presence notwithstanding.
Sailing into middle and high school and adolescence after moving into the city's peaceful suburbs, there was a clear cut power struggle between the two of us since rebellious teen me could not tolerate her dominating ways; she got ticked off almost everyday. Not to take things lying down, she made sure matters invariably went to Mom's 'fast track courts' for justice. Poor, hapless mom had to intervene in these juvenile power fights despite a hectic day at work and the other demands of life she grappled with, just so that peace was restored between her mutinous teen and an equally bull headed nanny who thought she knew best for her ward. One day, post such an altercation, I was in a rage and went right up to my mom and bellowed, "Could you just ask this 'Idiot' to mind her own business? She s getting too big for her boots". Mortified, Mom was all set to scold me for the profanities I was using when pat came the retort from behind.."Why are you 'tussing' and 'pussing'in English? Why can't we have a dialogue in Kannada or even in Tamil, I could beat you hands down! And by the way, you cant call me 'Idli' to my face!"
Despite all these behind-the- scenes drama, we were thick friends - she continued to wait on me from head to toe - yes, she did, amidst Mom's mild admonition that I was slowly and surely turning into an overweight, lazy brat. An inseparable part of our household, she was the 'know-it-all'; relatives and friends alike knew her as an extension of ourselves - my closest pals knew her just as she knew them, the affection was mutual and they too got a taste of the lady's bossy ways! The yummy meals she served us till we threw up and had to loosen our trouser belts and plead for mercy with the 'Dragon'. Well, the simpleton that she was, she believed young girls ought to eat well - they needed the strength to deal with the men, you see! Now, could I beat the logic?
Even as I moved on to other stations in life, I always made sure I spent time with her whenever I visited my folks. She was always concerned about my well-being and happiness in my new home, her only refrain being, "Are you happy, child?" with a searching look on my face. When my parents relocated, she felt it was protocol for her to move in with her people. Well, how wrong she was. Abandoned by her 'people' - selfish relatives, who extracted all that they could from her both in money and kind, before dumping her, she had to fall back on my family for support. In an old age home since early last year, she used to eagerly await my brother's and my visits every other weekend.
Years later, now, I realize the depth of her struggles - a single woman, who boldly walked out on her womanizing husband. Life was not easy. It is never so, to be alone and lonely in a man's world. She braved it all - desertion, rejection, denial of motherhood - her harshness perhaps stemmed from the insecurity of a gentle, vulnerable, woman who was afraid of being taken for a ride; after all, isn't offense the best form of defense? Someone who held her emotions on her sleeve. "They are always emotional, the good ones", said Hank Moody, the groovy lead of Zee Cafe's once popular late night series "Californication". I cant help, but agree.
After over a year in the old age home, she took ill and was diagnosed of acute renal failure and emergency dialysis was recommended. Distraught, my brother and I prayed hard for her to pull through, but, fate willed otherwise. She passed onto the ages after 15 days at hospital and 3 painful days in Intensive Care. I froze on seeing her lifeless body and as I went about informing 'her' 'people' and settling her affairs. I realized, in a flash, what I had and what I lost.
My brother and I were no less her children, but ironically, we had no right over her in death. She didn't belong to us - our family, our caste, our community. We had to give in to the diktat of custom and decorum.
Love always comes in our lives - in different shapes and forms. We have to cherish it and know what is genuine and what is not. Tell me, how many of us would have known and been loved by more than one mother? Well, I had. RIP Papamma.
Rockstar leaves one perplexed and disappointed. Another Bollywood offering that has failed to come good. Imtiaz Ali had a promising story on hand and he has frittered away the whole potential with wasteful gimmickry. Disparate flashbacks, poor characterization of the lead characters mar the proceedings completely, making the viewer wonder what the director was actually getting at. After the hype and expectation that Rockstar generated, one would have expected better from Ali.
