Being born in a comparatively better strata of society, I have been or rather many like me have been blessed with thoughts and ideas of a land where there exist fairies, roses, angels, blue sky, green meadows, sugar candies. But there is a completely clashing world beside us, going hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder with us. The stark reality of a developing nation. A third world country.
We may go into denial mode, ignore what our own sight sees, mute our ears and defy our thoughts but it’s true. Did she ever have a dream, maybe she had but who cared about her dreams. Her dreams were meant to be strangled then and there in her sleep. But there she was trying with all her resources to nourish that small dream may be not hers but for her next generation. Who knows if they could fly into the sky where she saw a new life, a new heaven.
This was the mother. Her reality was her kids, she had gathered all her strength everyday when she woke up (if at all she slept), collected her courage to cook for the entire family, arrange the house in her own way, feed her kids with meals, the best which were safely tucked aside for the little ones. Did she bother if she had not had those fruit bites since years? Well she did manage to feed herself with sufficient rotis most of the days. Nights could be a little tougher. But she thanked God; she was able to send her kids to school, buy their stationeries and deposit their fees on time.
Every night she had to face the wrath, may be of her husband or teenage son but she had the nerve to act as a pacifier after her long day. Then there were days she would work a little harder, if her elder daughter was facing difficulty in solving some problems in her maths lessons. That would mean an extra hour of work for extra cash and there she was all smiles because she had saved some extra amount for her daughter’s tuition that month. Her dreams still lingered somewhere around her eyes.
A whole day of work, she returns back to her small hut, inhaling the smoke from that little ‘chulha’ but still her lips wore a smile. She dreamt but she belonged to a different strata, she was a mother, not as privileged like us, may be her dreams did not envision sugar candies and fairies but yes she dreamt that her kids’ lives were a bit happier, their stomachs full, their jobs much easier and their dreams more rosier. Yes she worked hard, she was a mother too.
This piece is dedicated to all the helpers who we meet at our house…we might not notice their eyes but they have a lot to say. I cannot help but salute these mothers everyday for what they do for their family.
Ronita-Maitra Bhandari is a freelance creative writer who writes for various sites and blogs. She has also done a certified course in “Positive Parenting” from U.K. She is a mom to a 7-year-old and loves nurturing her greatest resource, her daughter. Apart from writing she is a nature lover and gets energised wandering around green patches. She believes family is a treasure chest and children are those precious jewels in the chest who sparkle to illuminate lives. What else would one desire to live a rich life?