{"id":4621,"date":"2016-05-24T12:50:11","date_gmt":"2016-05-24T07:20:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4621"},"modified":"2016-05-24T12:50:11","modified_gmt":"2016-05-24T07:20:11","slug":"mother-celebrates-monday","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=4621","title":{"rendered":"How an Indian Mother Celebrates the Monday After Mother\u2019s Day"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I<\/span>t\u2019s a Monday morning and my wave of bye is deliberately restrained so as not to reveal the storm of <\/p>excitement<\/span><\/a> waiting to unleash as my husband\u2019s back disappears inside the lift. In a couple of minutes, I will be replaying a similar scene with my son. <\/span>\n\nThese are the longest two minutes of my life. But I dare not display my impatience. My son is a seeker. Each morning, a 120 seconds before he crosses over the threshold into the lift lobby on his way out to work, he seeks out his universe \u2013 earphones, wallet, and a sock. On any other day, his frantic searches under sofa cushions, behind doors, inside commodes, would leave me ranting \u2013 and wheezing in its <\/span>aftermath<\/span><\/a>. <\/span>\n\nToday, although, I can barely wait for him to leave, I am calm. The Buddha has lent me his smile for the day with a promise that I shall return it to him at the stroke of midnight. I wait patiently in the centre of the living room, while the world around me turns turtle in a <\/span>phenomenal<\/span><\/a> uprooting of cushions. <\/span>\n\nWith the universe lost and now found, my son steps out of the door. I wait a full 10 minutes for any hasty <\/span>comebacks<\/span><\/a> \u2013 a forgotten item, or something more profound like a change of mind about going to work. My lips tremble in fervent prayer. At the end of 10 minutes, I hurriedly type out a message on our family WhatsApp group of three. Shaky fingers don\u2019t type well, \u201cPhone acting funny\u2026 you may not get through.\u201d \u00a0I wait long enough to see two blue tick marks alongside my message. A gleeful grin replaces Buddha on my lips as I, with a flourish, switch off my phone. I turn off the main switch to the doorbell. With my eyes shut, I turn my face up and breathe in the wafting fragrance of silence. <\/span>\n\nThus, I stand, my back against the world locked outside. Once the reality of my situation seeps in, I turn on my Caravan. <\/span>Happy<\/span><\/a> is the mood I select on the music player. When a woman is happy, can dance be far behind? I let my hair down and shimmy away with Helen\u2019s \u201cMera naam chin chin chu\u201d. Slightly out of breath 30 minutes later, I plop into the leather folds of the recliner. I sit there in my sweat-soaked pyjamas and tee, unshackled by any suffocating inners. Free as free can be.<\/span>\n\n\u201cWhy the holiday?\u201d my cook and maid had both chorused last evening. \u201cI will be out for the entire day tomorrow,\u201d I had answered untruthfully. But happy to get a day off, they did not pursue the matter. Pinky and Usha are my lifelines. Yet, a day without them cannot be described, it can only be experienced. The clank of utensils, the plop of the mop, and rising above all this, the din of incessant <\/span>chatter<\/span><\/a> and the hushed yet loud-enough gurgle of gossip turn the house into a machine with moving parts. <\/span>\n\nBut what I was seeking today was silence. I turn my head as if on cue to see Kamala Das looking back at me from the cover of her <\/span>autobiography<\/span><\/a>. I pick up the book. When I shut the book with a sigh, it is almost 1 pm. Slight hunger pangs nudge me: I make my way to the kitchen to fix a quick bite. On the way, I catch a glimpse of my son\u2019s bed and a pile of clothes threatening to slide down to the floor. I flick my mane and turn the other way, toward the kitchen. <\/span>\n

Happy is the mood I select on the music player. When a woman is happy, can dance be far behind? I let my hair down and shimmy away with Helen\u2019s \u201cMera naam chin chin chu\u201d.<\/blockquote>\nArmed with a bottle of Sula, a wine glass and a plate of cheese, I head back to the recliner. On the way, I catch myself in the mirror in the corridor. Rowdy strands of hair dance on my cheek. The shapeless <\/span>nightwear<\/span><\/a> clings to me comfortingly. But the best accessory is my face\u2026 flawless in its joyous abandon. I can\u2019t help but smile to myself.<\/span>\n\nI curl up with <\/span>Netflix <\/span><\/a>and let the wine glide down my throat. The young and unsure Claire Foy as Queen Elizabeth struggles to have her way with the imperious Churchill. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Two episodes and half a bottle later, I switch to <\/span>Divine Destinations <\/span><\/i>on Travel XP. But soon enough, a tiny spring of guilt leaps out of my heart. I haven\u2019t lit the lamp in the prayer room, nor have I said my prayers for the wellbeing of the family. <\/span>\n\n\u201cGod, too, needs a break,\u201d says a wine-laced inner voice. \u201cLet God be, at least for a day!\u201d the voice reprimands. Brusquely put into place, I sink deeper into the recliner and seek spirituality vicariously through the travel anchor on screen. It is with this frame of mind that I seek more meaning in the idea of <\/span>motherhood<\/span><\/a>. <\/span>\n\nMuch has been said about motherhood: <\/span>\n\n\u201cMotherhood is divinity\u201d \u2013 I suppose that can be debated.<\/span>\n\n\u201cMotherhood is a job you can never quit\u201d \u2013 True that.<\/span>\n\n\u201cMotherhood is a responsibility? \u2013 Hey, preaching to the choir, here!<\/span>\n\nBut to me, here\u2019s what it really is: Motherhood means you are never alone in your thoughts.<\/span>\n\nImagine having someone lurking in your thoughts all the time. First they are tiny beings. Then they grow up and take up more space in your thoughts. Then they continue to grow and become permanent <\/span>residents<\/span><\/a> in your head. They mess with you so much that the thought of losing them makes you lose your head. So you cling on and think about them all the time. It\u2019s a bad word, this motherhood. Maa ki\u2026 <\/span>\n\nAnd just then I give in to the <\/span>temptation<\/span><\/a> of checking my phone. The minute I switch it on, frantic beeps announce a string of messages: Yesterday\u2019s unread messages announcing Mother\u2019s Day goodies, Mother\u2019s Day offers, Mother\u2019s Day useless gyaan. But my gaze stops at one particular message: Hot tears sting my eyes as I read, \u201cHope you are having your day of quiet, Mom. You deserve it.\u201d<\/span>\n\nFine, it\u2019s time I admit that motherhood happened each time a gummy, <\/span>toothless<\/span><\/a> smile looked up at me. Motherhood continues to happen in those harried moments of the morning when he rushes out of the door. And I will not barter this bonding for anything in life. <\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Much has been said about motherhood. \u201cMotherhood is divinity\u201d \u2013 I suppose that can be debated. \u201cMotherhood is a job you can never quit\u201d \u2013 True that. \u201cMotherhood is a responsibility? \u2013 Hey, preaching to the choir, here! But to me, here\u2019s what it really is: Motherhood means you are never alone in your thoughts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":335,"featured_media":4622,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[107],"tags":[8196,18,6244,242,8197,1394,243,1773,6277,2323],"class_list":["post-4621","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-pov","tag-divinity","tag-family","tag-happy","tag-mom","tag-monday","tag-motherhood","tag-mothers","tag-mothers-day","tag-responsibility","tag-woman"],"yoast_head":"\nHow an Indian Mother Celebrates the Monday After Mother\u2019s Day<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Much has been said about motherhood. \u201cMotherhood is divinity\u201d \u2013 I suppose that can be debated. \u201cMotherhood is a job you can never quit\u201d \u2013 True that. \u201cMotherhood is a responsibility? \u2013 Hey, preaching to the choir, here! 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