The mother-daughter dynamics

Mother Mary Comes to Me 

Author: Arundhati Roy 

It is a widespread adage. Boys tend to gravitate toward their mothers, while daughters regard their fathers as their soulmates. Many daughters have a love-hate relationship with their mothers. They often appear to be at loggerheads and argue over the most trivial reasons, but at the first sign of distress, both are quick to be each other's Rock of Gibraltar.

Perhaps secretly, each of them sees a version of themselves in the other, and they dislike what they see. The mother might think she could have made better choices, such as selecting a better life partner or achieving a higher career status. With those noble intentions, she may be constantly watching her daughter, hoping to see her attain a life of greater stature than her own. 

The daughter believes the mother has a lifelong vendetta to ruin every part of her future. Everything the daughter does, it seems, is a disappointment. Perhaps the mother is simply old-fashioned and jealous of the freedom the daughter enjoys, which the mother was denied. Under the guise of securing her future, the mother acts as the villain, destroying whatever few bricks are left laid. 

Susanne Arundhati Roy recalls her childhood in Kerala, growing up with her mother. Her father was estranged, but Roy's lively mother was no pushover. She founded a private school after losing her inheritance because of an outdated state law. She took legal action against the family and successfully had the law amended after taking her case to a higher court. 

Roy grew up with her mother in a steam cooker environment with the elder constantly breathing down her neck, despite the mother's struggle with chronic asthma. The mother ran the school and her family (Arundhati and her brother) with an iron fist, supported by subservient helpers. 

The biopic continues with Roy heading to architecture school, experimenting with writing, becoming involved with a married filmmaker, engaging with the leftist movement, and writing her first novel, 'The God of Small Things.' It concludes around the time of her mother's death. 

 

An engaging book that depicts the bittersweet relationship between a mother and daughter. 

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Finding the Fulcrum

 https://borderlessjournal.com/2024/09/16/finding-the-fulcrum/

I decided to care for my ailing octogenarian mother, not because she willed me a great fortune or because I have a great liking to care for the sick. Neither do I want to gaslight her for all the not-so-nice things she said about me and my family in better health all through her healthy life.

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Happy Mothers' Day, not to all!

The all-embracing loving Maa

It is that time of the year when everybody publicly displays their undying love and gratitude for their mothers. No matter how strained their relationships with their mothers had been, at least now is the time to mend fences or to reignite the long put out flames of love and affection. Together with tweets and postings on social media, we are also inundated with many Tamil songs that glorify maternal love.

Ah, there are too many Indian movie songs at their disposal that put mothers high up on a pedestal, quite rightly so. It is unimaginable how much a mother sacrifices for her offspring, starting with the many discomforts of early pregnancy followed by the image alternating insults. The puerperal period is no walk in the park either. The sleepiness nights, the constant demand for attention and care of an ill child are just the beginning of many more of the unending saga of nurturing to follow.

The wrathful protective Maa

All these are fine and good, but in the course of my profession, I have frequently encountered mothers who have not conformed to the typical society mould of an ideal mother who nests, nurtures and cares till their chicks develop wings. Because of economic pressures or innumerable societal situations, they may have needed to leave their loved ones behind to be managed by someone else. Who are we to judge their inadequacies of parenting? We may be quick to pass judgement thinking that the child grows up in the bosom of everyone else but the mother? 

Then others decide to leave their bad mistakes behind to start all over on a new Slade. She does not want to know the remnants of her past life. 

Just to remind ourselves, many of the inmates of orphanages also have their mothers, in flesh and blood, walking somewhere on God's Earth. But, of course, every case is different and has a justifiable explanation for why the orphans grew up without the tactile embrace of their mothers. We simply look at them through our rose-tinted lenses and condemn them.

To put fuel on to the fire, let us not forget the wrongful interferences of the over-meddling of mothers in the matrimony of their children. Rather than cementing relationships, many have unwittingly chosen the path of destruction in dealing with marital frictions.

Still, Happy Mothers' Day, nevertheless. 

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The Roost

https://mybukz.tumblr.com/post/175292906152/poem-the-roost-by-farouk-gulsara

Credit: FB group: Rawthers

Penang circa mid-1960 

There was once a time, a few years ago, there was a spate when many of my relatives had given up on their motherland, turned their back on Malaysia and started looking around for greener pastures. I wondered how Mother Malaysia would feel to see one by one, her children, after years of nurturing them, after growing so big and strong, feel compelled to fly away from their roost. Like a proud mother seeing her kids having a mind of their own, she must be immersed in a kind of bitter-sweet feeling.


Like a flight of swallows,
you came all stocks and barrels,
from Swatow,
from Coimbatore,
Looking for a peace of mind,
you scaled the high seas and brine.

You were hungry, I fed your soul,
you had shivers, I showed you warmth.
you were homeless, I gave you home.
you were stateless, I was your hope.

Under the yellow umbrella,
and a piece of cloth,
you had dignity, camaraderie, integrity.
a history, a legacy,
an emblem, an anthem.
The colours to spill your crimson.

Now that you have wings,
you can expand your span,
once an ugly duckling,
majestically now a swan,
I remain your dodo,
Flightless, lifeless, brainless, valueless,
And cared less.

I am not up to your mark
not up to your spark,
no path to walk.
you want to fly,
to reach high up in the sky.
you peacocked to new horizons,
no future, you cite as reasons,
you curse me, you betray me
still, I don't call it treason.

A summer love, a puppy love,
the morning after, the hangover,
a one night stand,
a nightmare to be got over?

I have my desires too,
To progress like the red dot,
And shine like the rising sun too.
Not just a chicken feed to the rot.
I stay regal, guarding,
patient, majestic,
hawking over the nest
providing a haven for the crows and the rest.

-FG-

 https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.