An inspiring tale of a ‘grand’ mother, unsung superwoman
The devastating wave of my mother’s sudden demise had dismantled the wholesome configuration of our house like a house of cards. However, enhancing her stature to an unmovable rock in the whirlpool of sorrows, my gritty granny towered tall and stately in exhibiting her tough role, wiping our tears in public and her own in private.
Despite her age, she forsook her comfortable living back in the village to join us in the bustling city life to help her son’s family rise from the ashes bit by bit. Her unexpected stance to undertake an uphill task of rearing three young kids, including my two elder siblings, put the speculation of dad’s second marriage at rest against our forthright reservation in accepting a new lady as our stepmother. Taking up multiple roles to the circumstantial needs was her inspiring flair. Getting up too early like a diligent homemaker, she’d prepare breakfast for the entire family, and pack four tiffins for dad’s office and three school-going children.
Accustomed to living in the green and spacious rustic settings, she never whined about her personal stifling travails, dedicating her entire living to forging a promising future for all of us besides leaning a comforting shoulder to her bereaved son mutely battling his inner longings for his departed better half. To engage in a long-winded conversation with each one of us in the evening was her unbroken routine with a covert aim to ensure pangs of loneliness didn’t overpower us at the melancholic light of the twilight.
What indeed strengthened the family’s balance sheet were her hawk-eyes, keeping a tab on our routine expenditure. Anyone, including breadwinner dad, would get a dressing down lest they dared to splurge on needless things. Her occasional tightening of the noose around her adrenaline-bound grandchildren driving high on hormonal imbalances getting through their impressionable age successfully averted our expected derailing from righteous paths. The truth is, healing powers of time failed to fill the motherly vacuum in our lives, but our grandmother’s presence did help ease our angst. The tough time slowly flew by, giving way to prosperous years.
Both my sisters got married in wellto-do families, and I too got a government job and a supportive spouse. Scooting down memory lane, my heart often fills with utmost respect to grandmother’s priceless contribution besides experiencing a sinking feeling over an insidious thought how our future would have spelt, had she not donned the role of our ‘mother’, earning the much-deserved epithet of being our ‘grand’ mother.
Holding my newborn son in her arms scaled her unsung accomplishments to a higher mark, straddling three generations of different timelines inextricably entwined in the web of her love and care. She would sit her great grandson upon her toes in locking cross of her veined legs to bathe him with lukewarm water, dress him as the most loyal babysitter, and rock his cradle singing familiar lullabies until his working parents returned home.
Cut to the present, she gets him ready for school, slipping his tiffin and notebooks into his bag, seats him in his Montessori van and picks him in the afternoon. Our entire clan, spanning people of all ages, lovingly calls her with a universal name, Beebi Ji, unmindfully underlining one gospel truth that addressing an unsung ‘superwoman’ like her with one specific relation would indeed belie her exceptional virtue of fitting into multiple roles at composite levels and above all, shifting gears to the need of the hour.
MY GRITTY GRANNY TOWERED TALL AND STATELY IN EXHIBITING HER TOUGH ROLE, WIPING OUR TEARS IN PUBLIC AND HER OWN IN PRIVATE