The umbilical cord
You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them. Well, I am sure you must have heard this phrase that perfectly defines the relationship between two romantic partners.
However, I would like to believe that this phrase also holds true for the equation that we share with our parents, especially those of us who have moved from the comfort of our hometowns to other cities and countries in search of better opportunities and to find our sense of purpose and freedom.
Here is my mom aka the female version of Sherlock Holmes, with whom I share a bittersweet relationship. As much as I love her, there are those rare occasions when she makes me drive up the wall to the point where I feel that we are better off by not living under the same roof. However, I also believe that is the beauty of our relationship—of two fiercely strong and independent women, who hold onto their own but move mountains to be with each other in times of crisis.
Never for once will my mother tell me how much she loves me. In fact, I don’t think mothers even do that. I think it’s a ploy of Indian mothers to see if their children actually notice all that they do for them. Fortunately, I do Be it rushing down to Pune, which was one of the major hotspots of the Covid infection in the country when the pandemic started, to be with me as I was alone and at my worst to standing beside me like a rock-solid support in a situation where my mother thought people will tear me down like vultures since I am young, Ma, you are probably right when you say—“Half the parents did not have to struggle the way I had to to bring you up since I am a single parent.”
(Not disrespecting/discrediting any parents’ here. I am sure each of you are doing an amazing job in securing your child’s future and giving her/him the best of everything.)
Be it bringing 3 kilos of mangoes from Kolkata to Delhi so that I don’t miss out on savouring the taste of the king of fruits this season to wrapping up more than half of the household chores because the domestic help did not turn up, Ma, everything you do don’t go unnoticed. I love you for many other reasons apart from dusting and clearing the cobwebs from the corners of my room 😛
Coming to our share of differences and disagreements. As fierce and independent as we may be, these qualities stand in the way of peace-making as it makes us repel each other when we don’t share the same opinion or during our fights. Also, I believe these are the only two characteristics, which make people say that I am a carbon copy of my mother. Otherwise, we are poles apart.
While I look up to her for some of the choices she has made for her own life without caring about the societal lens, her ‘log kya kahenge’ approach with regard to me and my life choices baffles me. I, on the other hand, believe in ‘live and let live’ as ‘logo ka kaam hai kehna’. While she is a bit too frugal—again probably something that she has cultivated over time to raise me and meet my needs,—- I am a bit of a materialist and love splurging (definitely not something to boast about. Need to adopt my mother’s economical spending habits). Sometimes, while she will go where the herd is going or has been directed to go, I will stray away from the herd and take the road less travelled to chance upon something beautiful or come back with a vivid experience.
How protective my mother is about me came to the fore when we took a foreign trip this time. She would press the panic buttons every time I, a 27-year-old grown woman, would go out of her sight.
Let me share a few instances. She would panic every time I would step out of the room to take a stroll around the hotel and explore the premises. At night, when I would go out to call close friends, I would come back to see her sitting upright like a strict teacher (which she literally is) waiting to scold the children (here of course it’s me) for arriving late or tossing restlessly on the bed, oscillating between sleep and staying awake, waiting for me to slip under the blanket right beside her.
During our visit to Eiffel Tower, there was such a desperate call from nature to relieve myself that the moment our tour manager pointed out where the restroom was, I rushed like a speeding car, without looking back to check if anyone was coming along or not. My mother, who happened to have quite a company in the journey, landed with her friends after 10 minutes and started shouting my name in the loo while I was thanking god for making one of the toilets in the restroom available to me just in time.
My mother failed to keep her panic back at the hotel even when we visited Disneyland. A place where childhood fantasies take the shape of reality, where our eyes well up reminiscing about the cartoon characters we were fond of as a child, Disney could have actually sketched out a character of my mother for being the queen of panic.
I wonder if she realizes that sometimes, her overprotectiveness suffocates me—it suffocates me to the point where it reinstates my belief that we are better off living in different cities. Her overprotectiveness would have stifled me and influenced many decisions that I have taken for my life. But I also wonder should I blame her for being overprotective? For someone who did not have another partner to share the load of raising a human child or the concerns that she had in her mind as she saw her daughter growing up, who devoted all her life in bringing me up and giving me the best that she could, can I blame her for being overprotective about something that’s a part of her own body?
Probably, the umbilical cord that attached me to my mother’s womb has not snapped yet. Maybe that is the reason she is still so overprotective about me. Maybe that is the reason she still keeps telling me, “For me, you will always be my chhoto (small) Riya.” Maybe that’s the reason she does not realize that as much as I am open to take the lessons life has taught her, not everything can be passed down and there are somethings in life that I need to learn on my own. Most importantly, it may be the reason why she is the inspiration behind most of my write-ups.
My mother says when I was a child, I had this habit of touching her and then falling asleep. Old habits die hard and fortunately, this habit of mine has not changed yet. But now, it’s not just restricted to sleeping. Be it shopping, taking a stroll or visiting a tourist destination, I still wrap my hands around my mother’s, just like the umbilical cord, which remains coiled around the foetus and provides it all the nourishment in the mother’s womb.
About the auther
Raajnandini Mukherjee hails from Kolkata. She is a mass-com professional. She has worked with news
organisations, such as The New Indian Express and The Times of India, at various locations across the country. Currently, she is based in Delhi and is working with the Hindustan Times. She is in her mid 20s and fond of adventure.