
Ms Sharma hailed from Mumbai and had started telling us how she reached Mangalore:
“Varun grew up and expressed his desire to be an architect. Though his grades weren’t good enough, my husband managed to get him a management seat in one of the best institutions of the country. It was a different matter that the seat cost us a lot of debt and burden. We did not want Varun to know about the sacrifices we made to avail him a seat. He went to Hyderabad for studies. We did miss him at home, but studies were more important and as parents we wished only the best for him. He got into a famous company through campus recruitment and we were happy for him. But the joy did not last long for our family as my husband expired. It really took time for me to accept the fact that he was no more. My only hope for survival was Varun. I knew ‘my’ son would take care of me. And he did. After a year, he found his life partner in his colleague, Meena, and got married to her. Any mother would be happy to welcome her daughter in law home, so was I. They went on a honeymoon to Singapore and got back home. After a few months I started facing severe health problems and hoped my bahoo would cope with the house hold chores. My son had started avoiding me, or maybe I was just feeling it. After all I was not used to sharing him with anybody, I assured myself. Her mother soon joined us at home. I did not raise any objections, why would I? But little did I know it was an invitation for worries and conflicts. Meena started finding faults with me for the silliest of things and her mother only added fuel to fire. The complaints about his mother being a burden and an annoying creature became a daily dinner component for Varun. And surprisingly he took their side, without seeking any explanation from me. My words of honesty and love were left unheard.”
We had guessed where the story would lead. Trying to console her, my friend Ranjan said, “We understand how difficult and hurting it would have been for you ma’m.”
And she replied, “There is a lot of difference between understanding and experiencing my dear. You may understand what I felt, but you certainly cannot feel what I felt. What you feel is sympathy, what I feel is agony.”
We knew we could not prove her wrong and remained silent. She continued:
“Verbal abuses followed every day. I did not want to provoke it further and kept quiet about every incident. And I knew he would not trust me, he had become a ‘Joru Ka Ghulam’. I was treated like a house maid; given leftover food, made to clean the toilets and wash plates. Varun did not bother, he was busy with his ‘family’. I was not educated, nor did I have the strength in me to work elsewhere, so I had no choice but to tolerate. Where else would I go? Varun was my only family and there were no relatives in town. I had wished to die in the house where my husband lived; where my only son was brought up. My health was deteriorating; the number of medicines prescribed by the doctor were expensive and Varun did not like it a bit to ‘spend’ on an old lady who was a burden. His words hurt me more than my physical pain. For once I thought I would take shelter in some old age home. But I had no money with me to travel even a kilometer. I had asked my late husband to deposit whatever bank balance we had to our son’s account for his use. And I had made the mistake of thinking that my son would always be there for me. Two weeks after my medical report, Varun announced that I was being sent to an old age home in South India, far away from home so that his ‘family’ would not be disturbed. It was a shame to introduce me as his mother to friends when they came home, he told me. I did not know what to reply or how to react. Was this my son? The one whom I loved and for whom my husband sacrificed all luxuries! Did we fall short in giving him whatever he wanted? We had given him the best life we could. The house where he was staying with his family belonged to my husband and not him. ”
How could he even have the guts to say that he felt shameful to introduce her? Damn him, I told myself. This poor, innocent lady had been sent six hundred kilometers away from home by her son; whom she had picked from an orphanage. Had it not been the couple, he would not have received the best education nor met his wife Meena. And he forgot it all within a year? It took years for them to bring him to this position, shell out half their savings to educate him. He got married and has his family, understood. But what gave him the authority to ‘throw’ his mother like that from her own house? Childhood and old age are the two stages of life, when one needs utmost love and affection. This old woman was made an orphan by her son who received an identity only because of her.
“I had never been to Mangalore and it was a new place for me. As I started mingling with the ‘orphans’ here, I realized that there were many people like me in this country. My roommate Mrs Menaka’s story is heart breaking. Her only daughter forged signatures and poor Menaka lost all her property and bank balance. She could have filed a case; but tell me which mother would want to wage a legal war against her daughter for property? Mr. Prasad came here voluntarily to escape from the physical torture his daughter in law gave him, in the absence of his son who works abroad. Forgetting the past is difficult for us, specially the absence of our partners and children. Our children send the management some amount of money every month for our ‘maintenance’. Will someone tell them that we are not objects, but parents who are craving for affection from their children? When my son got married I wished that I could stay alive to see my grandchildren grow. Now I have no reason left to live. A parent never expects money or luxury. All she seeks is love. I still love Varun as my son, but he does not want me as his mother. If my husband was alive, he would not let this happen.”
I could feel the real pain this time and hugged her tight. Fighting back her tears, she continued and we knew it was getting very difficult for her to do so.
“When youngsters like you come here to visit us ‘orphans’, I request them not to do what my son did. Please take care of your parents who have loved you all throughout their lives. They may never tell you what financial problems they face, but give you the best education and life. They will always be there by you, so never abandon them when they need you. You never know what sacrifices need to be made as a parent unless you become one. I probably made the mistake of sacrificing all my life for Varun without saving anything or bothering about myself. When you have children, give them the best you can, but don’t neglect yourselves. Remember my advice. I have lost all that I had and do not want anyone to meet a fate like me. Everyone here has a sad story to tell, but do not want to as it reminds them of their past. We are trying to move on with our lives as long as we can. God bless you all.”
I had tears in my eyes not just for her; but for the plight of humanity in this world. Images of my parents started forming in my mind. Where have we come? What has gone wrong?
As we were about to leave, she told us: “I only hope I get to meet him before I die. Pray he does come and meet me, won’t you? I still wonder why I sacrificed my life for him. Why, why did I?”
Ms Sharma’s real life story has had a great impact on my approach towards life and parents.
All the elders in the old age home are waiting for their family to come back and take them home someday. I pray that her wish to meet Varun comes true and that we do not commit a sin like him.
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