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Spice of life | Selfless and proud! Indian mothers never retire
Kahlil Gibran’s lines: “Your children are not your children/ They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself/They come through you but not from you/ And though they are with you yet they belong not to you…” never resonated with me.
“Shall I write a farewell speech for you, Lado?” I asked my daughter excitedly after I learned that her request for voluntary retirement had been accepted.
Her decision to take voluntary retirement from her job as a corona warrior had come as a relief as we as a family had been debating on the issue for quite some time. Her job was stressful and posed a risk to her health and that of the family. Her resolve to win more laurels and serve the community was finally weakened after she fell sick twice in quick succession, first due to Covid and then dengue.
To my dismay, she seemed horrified at the idea: “Oh no! Bilkul bhi nahi mummy (mot at all mother). Nooooo, ma, please!”
As her vehement rejection pierced my ears, I was rendered numb by shock. Little did my daughter realise, her refusal to avail of the service, which I had so enthusiastically offered had dealt a fatal blow to my ego. For over the last few years, I had been taking great pride at having become a writer, courtesy of kind-hearted editors of a couple of dailies, who had been publishing my articles off and on.
Swallowing the humiliation and trying to sound normal, I sweetly asked her, “Why not beta?”
Pat came her response in a rather matter-of-fact tone: “I hate the weepy stuff you are so fond of writing.”
She did not stop at that but proceeded to mock me over an incident that had happened at another farewell party.
On my superannuation, a decade ago, when I was called on the dais to say a few words as is customary, I was so overcome by emotion that before I could complete the first sentence of the farewell speech --- which mind you, I had taken days to write --- I choked and tears streamed down my cheeks. I just said, “Farewells are always sad…,” and slumped on the nearest chair with the mike in my hand much to the embarrassment of my husband, children and grandchildren who had been invited to attend the party hosted by my department.
I belong to the generation that derives great pleasure in glorifying itself as selfless loving beings who live but for their children. Though a great fan of Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese American genius, I could never appreciate what he wrote about the relationship of parents with their children. His lines: “Your children are not your children/ They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself/They come through you but not from you/ And though they are with you yet they belong not to you…” never resonated with me.
The philosopher’s worldly wisdom just does not fit my worldview as far as my noble Indian values are concerned. I believe in not letting go easily where my children are concerned. I understand that my overindulgence may seem to be suffocating to them at times, yet I wish to be their beacon light at every step of their lives because I am their mother.
It is Gibran who writes: “He who loses his mother, loses a pure soul who blesses and guards him constantly.”
aswantkaur@yahoo.com
The writer is a Tarn Taran-based freelance contributor
