“What does your mother do?”
“Nothing. She’s a homemaker.”
The answer I gave during the early stages of my life made me feel ashamed once I started living alone. And I regretted the answer much more recently, when I had to be in my mother’s shoes for a few days during an emergency.
From cooking, cleaning, washing, and being an alarm clock for my brother and I, to buying things for the house and taking care of her terrace garden and along with the small farm where coconut trees, plantains and several other species thrive — there’s nothing that my mother did not do — without help. Even when she hit her 70s, she refused to hire a house help, ignoring our repeated requests.
On her 75th birthday last month, when she suffered a fall, leading to a fracture that required surgery and implants, she was bedridden for the first time in more than four decades since my brother and I were born. I took the first available flight home, having no clue about what lay ahead.
It crushed me to see her in the hospital bed, but duty took precedence over emotions. The days in hospital were manageable with help at hand, though I spent sleepless nights due to the constant monitoring of her IV drips and machines with varying decibel levels that were attached to her. Painkillers and sedatives helped her wade through the toughest of days.
The day we reached home, a Pandora’s box of challenges opened. I became the new mother of a 75-year-old. So late in life, I understood why my friends who had a family and children never got any time to spare for themselves — to even exercise for half an hour a day. For the first time, I left messages unread for 48 hours or more. When I saw my phone at the end of the day, I would be too tired to look at it.
My brother and I shared the work, but both of us felt overburdened. We frantically looked for full-time help at home so that we both could get back to work. I had to don the role of a house nurse, domestic help, cook and cleaner, along with the additional responsibility of entertaining visitors. I was exhausted, to say the least, and would grow impatient with my mother for not eating, not drinking enough water, for waking me up from sleep for basic needs… I was ashamed of myself, of this new realisation of being a failure.
Earlier, I was only used to my friends flattering me by saying that they envied me for the way I took care of myself and living my life the way I wanted… Now I realise that I was doing only what any woman would do if they are not burdened with family responsibilities. I was taking care of only myself, which was no big deal.
I thought of the times when I had been sick — the five surgeries I had over a period of 15 years after I started working. I never heard Amma utter a word of exhaustion. I loved people around whenever I was sick and would always be surrounded by friends and relatives as visitors. I just had to gesture to Amma for tea or snacks for them; it would be provided in the best possible way. The last time I was bedridden was in 2021, when Amma wasn’t young anymore. But she never let the thought bother me. Whatever I needed was provided, however I wanted them.
I came to a conclusion this time. Managing things at home require a separate set of skills. It’s far from multitasking, sitting on a chair in an air-conditioned newsroom. I don’t regret to admit that I lack that crucial home skill. Cooking three meals a day for three people was torture for me.
Finally, we managed to find full-time help, train her and trust her with everything, including our mother, who was still in severe pain and was agonising that she was going to be left alone with a stranger.
Amid all this, only one thing brought a smile to her face — a photo that my brother clicked of a fruit that appeared on the mangosteen tree in her farm for the first time. She had planted it eight years ago and would check it almost every other day for a flower or a fruit. Elated over the first fruit, she asked my brother to show her the photo again and again.
I now pin hopes on the mangosteen to win where her daughter failed — to motivate Amma to be back on her feet.
The writer is Associate Editor, The Indian Express
National Editor Shalini Langer curates the fortnightly ‘She Said’ column
