Seventy . . . Read online

  Most children want their own mothers to be like everybody else’s mothers. Frankly, I didn’t feel that way about mine. She was who she was. I didn’t want her to be any different. We understood each other instinctively. She was deceptively simple to look at. Neatly dressed in fine, cotton sarees, her hair pinned in a nape bun, a red bindi in the middle of her broad forehead, a girlish voice and the seeking, curious, bright eyes of a child. Aie was a no-nonsense person who spoke her mind without a trace of apology. She was also remarkably intuitive. Our relationship remained on an even keel till the day she passed away. I must have annoyed and frustrated her a great deal. But I honestly cannot recall a single major flare-up. I never walked out of the house in rage. I didn’t slam the door on her. I didn’t yell back. That was simply not the pattern of our relationship. And yet, I have had to deal with my daughters’ tantrums and accusations at different times. I have had to tiredly concede that this is by far the most complex of all intimate relationships. The mother–daughter equation has not been given its rightful due in any popular medium. We focus far more on the mother–son relationship. But in today’s charged times, when roles have become so diffused and mothers are no longer the cookie-cutter variety of yore, it is important to acknowledge and address problem areas that come up between us and grown-up daughters who have their own complicated lives to cope with.

  I ask myself, ‘How controlling a mother are you? Or how remote?’ Both extremes come with their own problems. At different times in my daughters’ lives, I am sure I have swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. Especially when I may have been dealing with stressful situations of my own. The key aspect in any relationship is the strength of the basic bond between protagonists. How strong or fragile is it? Ask yourself that question when you are moping and blaming somebody else. A strong bond can overcome a crisis, even a series of crises. A rebellious daughter who constantly challenges her mother’s views is, in fact, telling her mother something important. She is demanding attention. Are you giving it? Not any kind of attention, but specifically what she is seeking from you. Have you put yourself in her shoes? Empathized with her? Do you constantly judge and correct her, thinking you are performing your motherly duty? Are you overcritical? Do you get her world at all? Or are you secretly hoping she becomes you? One more photocopy to flatter your ego?

  I ask myself, ‘How controlling a mother are you? Or how remote?’ Both extremes come with their own problems. At different times in my daughters’ lives, I am sure I have swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. Especially when I may have been dealing with stressful situations of my own.

  I have had my share of mother–daughter run-ins and emotionally unsettling conflicts. When I look back I realize I was using a familiar, tried-and-tested yardstick to ‘help’ and ‘sort out’ issues. There is no such thing as a uniform mom code. Each individual is unique. Emotional demands are unique. It isn’t a case of ‘one size fits all’. Parents frequently make that mistake and argue, ‘But this is how I was with her sister/brother. If that tactic worked wonderfully then, why isn’t it working now?’ The answer is obvious. No two children are the same. In fact, your children may not be like you at all—physically, mentally and emotionally. Is that too tough to accept? Do you sometimes wonder, ‘Where did this one come from?’ We are always looking for ourselves in our children.

  I have watched some of my friends struggle to hang on to their dignity as their children go on a rampage. Some were dealing with drug abuse, others with teenage alcoholism, still others with personality disorders. While I was spared most of this, I had to confront quite a few challenging situations for which I wasn’t entirely prepared. I mean, who can ‘prepare’ you to deal effectively and intelligently with modern-day emergencies which didn’t exist ten or twenty years ago? Drugs and our kids? No way! We were in denial. And because we hid from the truth, we couldn’t help our children.

  I have seen some of my contemporaries watch helplessly as their children moved away from them, lost in a hallucinatory world which nobody could access. Why were we such cowards? So many young adults could have been saved, brought back from the brink. But we failed them, and in the process, hurt ourselves. We lacked the courage to say, ‘Look—there is a problem. My child needs help.’ Some of us were so busy safeguarding our own precious egos, our image, our standing, our status, our position, we quite forgot this wasn’t about us—it was about our children who were suffering and sick and lonely and desperate and isolated.

  It is never too late to reach out. Some parents feel desolate and defeated. They believe their children are rejecting them . . . spurning their love. So what? You are still the parent! Behave like one. Take charge of a child’s tattered life. Don’t give up. I have seen both parents and children come back from the brink. So many children these days are caught in a reversal of roles. They watch the lives of their own parents, and those of friends of parents, spiral downwards into a hellhole, fuelled by drugs, adultery and alcohol. I have read extraordinary stories of teenagers suddenly thrown into dramatic situations in which they become the saviours and assume responsibility of their parents. These are tragic, everyday realities of our times. We have to face them.

  Seeking help is step number one. Gradually, we are moving towards a more rational approach towards mental health. So many families are admitting they cannot cope with issues like domestic violence, sexual abuse, depression, withdrawal, bipolar conditions, anxiety and chronic fatigue, which afflict millions. With aggressive campaigns talking about these problems more openly, doors are opening up and families are going in for much-needed counselling. This is a positive development, the first big step in the right direction.

  How does a relationship change when abuse of any kind, and on any level, enters the picture? Bluntly speaking, it changes radically and possibly forever. The main solution lies in better communication. If you can sense a difference in your child’s behaviour, don’t ignore it. Don’t fool yourself that it will go away on its own. Pay attention to the smallest indicators. Monitor the child’s eating and sleeping patterns closely. Make sure the child doesn’t feel abandoned. If possible, don’t let a disturbed child spend hours on his/her own. Try to persuade the child to leave the bathroom/bedroom door open—spending a major portion of the day inside a locked room can be extremely worrisome, dangerous and lead to terrible consequences. If you feel you are unable to deal with the situation, seek professional intervention immediately.

  My space vs yours

  This is the thing about negotiating spaces. In reality, your own space is often the most neglected one. You become your own last priority. You start enjoying feelings of martyrdom and denial. You think you are being ‘dutiful’ even as you seethe with resentment from within. You discover that not everybody out there stands at a respectable distance and says, ‘We understand you want to be left alone right now.’ Most intrude roughly and rudely, at a time that you may hold personal and precious. A time to call your own. How do you handle it? Do you voice your annoyance? Display irritation? Keep quiet and play along?

  Most times, I play along. It’s easier, quicker and comparatively painless. Sometimes, I snap. And people around me get visibly distressed. It is almost as if I have somehow let them down. It’s a cruel shot: ‘How dare she want time for herself? What about us?’ I can overhear whispers: ‘What’s with her? Why is she being so weird?’ It’s a conditioned response to a pattern of behaviour I have created. A pattern that is now so entrenched in emotional transactions I don’t know how to break it. And when I do, the repercussions tend to be pretty harsh. It’s as if it is my priorities vs yours. My space vs yours. Who wins?

  On a recent week-long vacation with family and friends, I found myself on a short fuse more than once. I snapped and snarled several times over silly stuff I would have ignored had I been in my own space. Aha! There’s the answer. I was feeling displaced. And I was feeling responsible for the others in our group. It was a holiday I had initiated. I had got everybody on boar
d. I had worked on a programme keeping the group’s collective interests and sensibilities in mind. Yes, it had been a strain. But hey, nobody had thrust any of this on me. I had undertaken this ambitious expedition entirely on my own. And now, I was feeling oppressed? Taken for granted? Crotchety? I was feeling all that and more. Worse, I was showing it.

  Travelling can be a great litmus test that often reveals more than you wish to show about yourself to your travel companions. I know I can regain my equilibrium if I can take half an hour off to connect with that inner space I cherish. This half hour has to be uninterrupted, undisturbed. I need to physically shut myself down, lie down, close my eyes and open the door to my secret room—the space that belongs exclusively to me. Give me that, grant me this small indulgence to withdraw, and I am fine.

  We all have that magic room (physical or imaginary) to hide in when the day is done, a day crammed with activity and people. We are entitled to that half hour locked up within ourselves. Often, we don’t get it because our need to withdraw does not suit others. Try to remember when it happened to you. What did you do? How did you respond? Did you grit your teeth, mutter inaudibly and join in? Were you physically present and mentally absent? I had hoped to master it by now, but I fail a bit too often these days. As I did on that holiday.

  I know I can regain my equilibrium if I can take half an hour off to connect with that inner space I cherish. This half hour has to be uninterrupted, undisturbed.

  Reviewing your own behaviour and writing notes to yourself, can be therapeutic. On my return from the trip, I sorely missed the easy camaraderie and laughter. All of us had made the effort to carve out precious time to be together. I was with people who mean the world to me. I actively enjoy their company. And yet, I had slipped on more than one occasion, and hurt feelings. Why? Lack of sleep? Fatigue? Age? Perhaps it was a combination of all three. But everybody else had suffered the same conditions. They were fine. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t cope. Had I taken on too much? Was the presence of so many people 24/7 getting to me? Equally, was I getting on their nerves?

  I came back and started writing about it in the diary I maintain. I identified the source of my impatience. I had unresolved issues. And those had surfaced during the holiday. Not directly, but in small, sharp exchanges that spoilt the mood for the others, those who were unaware of the tricky equation between us in my mind. I should have risen above my anger and behaved with grace. It was not a question of whether my feelings were ‘justified’. They were just horribly misplaced on a holiday we were meant to enjoy.

  How would I handle it now? What would I do differently?

  As I stand back and think of the brief holiday, I realize my unfortunate behaviour had a history. A long history. It wasn’t just a momentary annoyance. No single incident had sparked the unnecessary sharpness. It was something deeper, and it was corrosive. I was ready to acknowledge it. Perhaps I had been ready to do so for years. But that was my need. I needed to purge whatever it was, from the past. Often, our misunderstandings fester and become toxic over time, because we lack the courage to confront the real issues. Sometimes, we get emotionally intimidated. At other times, we are emotionally lazy. It’s when we give up and say, ‘What’s the point? Nothing is ever going to change!’ that we surrender to forces that stop us from moving forward.

  How does one tackle toxic relationships? My self-protective response is to move away from the person. I just disconnect and tell myself to focus on other issues. Most times, this approach works and saves both parties from uttering words that are potentially wounding. I dislike confrontations and find them unaesthetic. This may not be an ideal solution, but over time, it has worked for me. No matter how damaging the relationship, the mere act of creating a distance—a space—reduces the trauma. Years go by. Soon, the person stops affecting you altogether. There is no discomfort. No hate. No anger. You are free.

  This is what I advise my daughters when they are dealing with people who hurt them—serial ‘hurt givers’. Move away! I implore. The hurt will heal if you leave it alone. Don’t revisit it. Don’t demand apologies or explanations. Look carefully and truthfully at your own impulses while you are busy blaming the other. Get rid of your own toxicity. Step outside yourself, and watch. Block out nasty memories of who said what and who did what. There is so much beauty all around us. When things look desperate, hopeless and ugly, walk away. Look beyond the fight, beyond the argument, and tell yourself there are no winners in such situations. Nobody is one up or one down.

  Young people are fragile and troubled. They need to be nurtured like the tender roots of a delicate plant struggling against the elements. Sometimes, just a wordless hug can elevate the mood, but if there is nobody around to provide the hug, look out of the nearest window. Look with your heart, not just your eyes. If you look hard enough, you will see what you may have ignored earlier—a street scene, a raucous crow, new leaves shimmering on the peepul tree, a young dad cradling his newborn. So often, we shut ourselves up and shut ourselves out. Dive into a useless, energy-draining exercise. Self-absorption takes a heavy toll eventually. By the time you shake yourself out of that mode, so much has passed you by. You have neglected nobody as much as you have neglected yourself.

  I spend a few minutes (at least!) every day, sitting on a low armchair near the balcony that overlooks the sea. I watch the water as it moves. It never moves in the exact same way. I watch the sky that changes by the second. I look at the egrets perched on treetops. The beautiful birds seem to be exchanging notes, gossiping. I can hear the neighbour’s dog barking at a stray cat. These are all considered ‘useless’, ‘non-productive’ activities.

  I am joined by Gong Li, my beautiful white Pekinese beauty, who jumps on to my lap and settles down for her teatime snack. Sometimes, one of my children walks in and sees me by the window. A chair is pulled up, coffee and popcorn arrive minutes later, and we fall into an easy pattern of light conversation. Sparrows come and drink from the earthen bowl on the ledge. They seem to be swapping gup shup, same as we are. It’s always a mellow moment. We need to make that quiet time for such moments, at least once during a hectic day. You can always choose yours. Some people prefer early mornings, when the rest of the family is yet to awaken. I like the ‘in-between time’ before dusk settles in. It is a good time to review the day, and the people you have connected to in that period.

  ‘Relative’ reality

  People ask me whether it is easy to make friends after a certain age. I answer that it is never easy to make friends, at any age. At this point in my life, I am not looking for new friends. I simply do not have the time and energy to invest in friendships. I don’t use the word ‘friendship’ lightly. For me, it is a weighty word. I see that this attitude has affected my children’s idea of friendship as well, which may not be such a bad thing given the fragile nature of friendship itself. Initially, my children would accuse me of cynicism, saying, ‘You don’t allow outsiders into your space. You don’t trust people easily. That is not nice!’ I was never looking for ‘nice’. Yes, there is a fair bit of cynicism in my attitude, but in the long run, I believe it has saved me a great deal of useless bother.

  Take relationships with relatives. Cousins, uncles and aunts. Blood ties that can’t be changed or challenged. But does that mean we have to fake love? Pretend we like and understand each other despite major personality differences? I have tried and failed. Friends, as is often pointed out, can be chosen. But you are stuck with relatives. It’s better to come ‘unstuck’ if the relationship doesn’t work than constantly crib about the person. I hear so many awful comments about this cousin and that uncle, which makes me wonder why the two parties bother to keep up appearances at all. Who cares? Why do they visit one another? Talk on a daily basis? Start a family group on WhatsApp? Why do I have to listen to their regular bitching? I also wonder what they are saying about me behind my back.

  Take relationships with relatives. Cousins, uncles and aunts. Blood ties that can’t be changed or challen
ged. But does that mean we have to fake love?

  In earlier times, when the joint family system was the strongest social unit, these ties were relevant and needed. A joint family represented strength, even power. Generations lived together, helped one another, aided a weaker family member when required and therefore survived. This system does not exist in our cities these days. Extended family members are virtual strangers, often living in far-flung cities across the world. ‘Keeping in touch’ becomes a burden, an obligation. Nobody has the time or inclination to maintain a record of births and deaths as they take place around the globe, or even in different cities across India. Where has that nosy aunt disappeared? The one who kept records better than a computer? She can be found running her own business, an NGO, a factory. Without a self-appointed record keeper, family members are adrift and pretty lost. Yes, it is a bit of a shame. But I think it’s still better than getting embroiled in nasty family gossip and ugly intrigues involving a relative with the all-important ‘blood ties’.

  Family feuds can be exceedingly corrosive. Sometimes, they cross generations and this horrible legacy carries on. Why get into it in the first place? I admit I have been a ‘bad’ relative and not participated in too many extended-family gatherings. The few I have attended over the years left me disheartened and sad. I couldn’t really see much joy. The conversations were superficial, forced and empty. There was bickering and, at times, an angry exchange of words. Then came the accusations and insults. It was not for me. Now, of course, I am rarely invited to join any function hosted by my parents’ relatives. There are a few young cousins and nephews I admire and like. I have no idea whether they reciprocate my feelings.