A postscript

Mother was a feminist by instinct

When we immersed mother8217;s ashes in the swollen but rather polluted Godavari river in Rajahmundry in early August, a personal journey that began in February 1945 came to an end. She had married into this riverine town and began her life with an earnest nationalist-rationalist. A devout niyogi Brahmin whose life was marked by piety and kindness, she never got over what she felt was a betrayal by God that she remained a widow for 11 years. Life without father was unthinkable, but it happened. She lost the will to live though the end took its time in coming.

Mother was an early feminist though she did not quite know the import of the word. Her last cogent comments to us were while watching the swearing-in of the new president, Pratibha Patil, on TV. She had a gentle dig at father, saying he ought to have been alive to see this day. Their different world views were part of our early lives, and while mother remained the traditional parent, father was the indefatigable Gandhian. He insisted she wear khadi saris and shed her upper-caste inhibitions.

But it was about Gandhi that mother remained steadfast. Yes, he was a great Mahatma, but an inadequate Mohandas with regard to his wife. This would upset father no end, but mother would just retort: 8220;Did you ever consider what Kasturbagaru had to undergo?8221; More often than not, father would be stumped. As we came to know later, he would then go to the local library, bone up on Kasturba and confront mother with more details. But neither budged from their views.

We knew how Kasturba, despite her intense reservations, was 8216;encouraged8217; to clean public toilets. 8220;Encouraged, my foot,8221; would be mother8217;s terse sotto voice postscript. She would point out that maybe Gandhiji had denied his wife the gender equality he sought for others.

The ceremony on the river bank was sombre. It was appropriate that mother8217;s remains be consigned to a revered river. The young priest asked me one last question: 8220;Was the deceased a punya-stree?8221; Meaning, was her husband alive? Sorrowfully, I shook my head in the negative. The relevant mantra chanted, I was directed to merge the ashes with the flowing river waters. Even in death, gender dissonance remained, but I knew deep within that mother had prevailed.