My Ma - The Purest and the most Beautiful Anomaly

'Social Distancing' - the viral word of the moment. Perhaps even for the coming months. An unprecedented societal situation that humans are experiencing, willingly for most and forcibly for some. This is an anomaly. Three weeks into this self-imposed isolation and my mind cannot re-wire itself to normalising new routines. My mind is not even idle, it is overwhelmed by a barrage of emotions. Emotions, that are not necessarily negative, though they tread carefully around it. I have consciously tried to seek inspiration to positively infuse myself. I have sought comedic relief from various sources - my favourite being TV shows such as Sarabhai vs Sarabhai or Khichdi. Nothing beats them. But I have also invariably resorted to more often now than before, remembering my mother, who lived this way for almost the last 10 years of her life. She was 'socially distanced', not self-imposed but circumstantially cheated.

Brought up in a Sindhi household with 5 other siblings, my mother always shared anecdotes of their early years, their struggles, their friends, their culturally enriched colony - Sindhis, Parsis, Hindus, Muslims - all post-Independence immigrants. They didn't have much but my mother always worked hard, achieved many successes in life and yet remained humble about her roots. Modest beginnings notwithstanding, she was a firecracker who was unafraid to speak her mind. An attribute of hers, that I was fully embarrassed by in my teenage years. And then I did a full 180 to value, cherish and emulate her gutsy attitude towards life.  Later I felt that my mother was a glamorous misfit - not only for the aesthetics but how she chose to live her life. In the early 1980s when India was still cocooned by a casteist denominator, my parents chose to get married - one a Sindhi from humble beginnings - the other a Malayali from humble beginnings. Culturally way off and even blasphemous perhaps, both were also way past the cliched marriageable age bracket. However, it was simple. They met at work in Delhi - dated a couple of years - eventually choosing to be tied in wedlock. Was that rebellion or was that cool back then? I do not know. But surely a civil anomaly.  

I was always in awe of her beauty. I remember when I was in the 1st grade, one day when she dropped me at school, my classmates remarked how beautiful she was - Oh, the pride! All of that pride came crumbling down when in my 10th grade, we had a guest at home, who saw few of my mom's yesteryear pictures and followed the same narrative about how stunning she looked and then continued to very unnecessarily add -

'Your daughter does not look like you at all!'

In front of me that too! That woman! Not that I wasn't aware, but those words pierced so much that I still remember them.

A lady who personified beauty with brains, it was an honour to have my mother as my one of my creators. However, genetically I was cheated. Big Time! Nothing, zilch, nada - I got none of those physical features. Not even my dad's perfect set of teeth (but I got the nose. Ofcourse!). I still hold a grudge to this day and will continue to do so till eternity. I am the perfectly flawed mish-mash of both genetic pools - the guinea-pig chosen for experimental relief (Much like what is happening in Sweden now. I am so lucky! Always). This is the primary anomaly of my existence.

Retrospectively, however, now that I look back at my life journey so far, barring the physical aspects, I am more like my mother as a person. I value directness and honesty over diplomatic suspensions in human interactions. Drawing courage to stand up for oneself rather than succumbing to societal pressures while trying to 'fit in' to be the ideal Indian woman, is something I am growing more comfortable with (I don't want to direct unnecessary attention to 'Indian' in the wrong way - I am a proud Indian but it is the selective perception that I am growing wary of). While there is a liberating release of tension and apprehensions when one believes by what one speaks - there is the other side as well - flak and ridicule for the misfits who choose to speak up. Your mental strength is persistently tested by family, friends, relatives and the society - intentionally or otherwise. Well, my mother braved them all until it just wasn't enough.

So why do I bring it up in the context of the Covid-19 situation that we are in? I draw parallels to how I am living right now - isolated, withdrawn and frustrated. My mother lived this way for a long time towards the latter half of her life. And she suffered as well. From when I was around 14 years of age, I noticed sporadic episodes of odd behaviour by her. She felt uncomfortable about our living situation, insecure about her surroundings, eventually becoming suspect of our neighbours and when it worsened - even any random person on the street. I wasn't intellectually aware of what was happening and I attributed this to her different nature. Soon this behaviour yielded and accelerated to numerous unmanageable situations - she screamed, cursed, blamed the neighbours and others for trying to kill her. It was unmistakable that she needed help. And then she was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia. I did not fully understand what it meant, but I remember that in one of our visits to a doctor - he said - to my father - 'if your daughter continues to stay and look after her mother like this, in 6 months your daughter will need to be hospitalized'. My parents had separated by then and I was living with my mom. I could not bear to leave my mother in an institution and I continued to live with her - even took her with me when I moved to a different city in Karnataka to pursue engineering. I did not want to distance her from the one person that she trusted in the world - that was me. Especially when she was forcibly socially distanced by nearly everyone - the ignorant knowns and the afraid unknowns. After graduation, I consciously chose my work base location as Ahmedabad to be able to visit her every weekend. That was the least that I could do. It wasn't easy but it was spiritually satisfying to be present for my dear mother. With that, I missed out on a lot of other 'normal' experiences - hanging out with friends, college parties, family outings but then there was another blessing that I recognised much later. I found the best emotional support from my friends at different stages in that period- Nitto, Shanno, Banka, Monica, Anu, Meg, Mayand, Rekhi, Malz, Asha & Vamsi - I owe it to you all.

Those formative years of my life also taught me most definitely that some people can be heartless. The society is bereft of genuine feelings - seeking simplicity in the complex and complexity in the mundane. My mother was shunned, ridiculed, made fun of - some of which can be forgiven for ignorance about mental illnesses but the persistent ostracisation reeked of a mean spirit. However, that phase of my life also validated the strength that my mother exuded despite it all. She remained independent and found happiness in the ordinary in her own little way. Every evening she religiously bought fresh vegetables from the nearby market and fed biscuits to the street dogs and the cows. But the people stayed away. And so in her debilitating years, she still remained to be the purest anomaly. 

I vividly remember how I once just blurted impulsively in frustration that 'I will write a book about you'. In that state too, she replied - 'Please do that Pam!' I don't know why she said that and I don't know about my ability to write a book. But I continue to live in solidarity with her happiness and pain, her fighting spirit and the anomalies that she beautifully exposed me to, all through out her life. In happy times and the not so good times even when she was socially distanced - she still remained to be the truest Maya Panicker.