I have always been of the opinion that it is such a cliché to think your
parent is a superhero. I honestly "knew" I was smarter than these childish
misconceptions of reality. I knew superheroes were fantasy - and this was
thanks to me reading books more than watching cartoon network. Even while
reading the wonderful world created by Enid Blyton and stories like Charlie and
the chocolate factory – I knew these were far from the reality life has in
store for me. I had a clear concept of reality versus fantasy, or so I thought.
It took me 25 years to come in terms with certain fantasies that I still
consider reality.
I was probably ten years old and it was a fateful day - Results of our final term exam along with Parent-Teacher meeting. Obviously I was tensed. The question looming was whether I would be ranked first or second. Second was unacceptable in our family, and my mother was in charge of keeping us aware of that. And my mind was not just worried about my results, but those of my two elder sisters too. Because unless all three of us did well, it wasn’t worth celebrating or being happy about. While we were finding a parking spot, one of my friends was walking by with her mother. Her mother slipped on the pavement and immediately my friend and her sister stopped in their tracks and helped their mother out. I clearly remember watching this from the backseat window of my car and finding it weird. I kept wondering why they helped their mother up. If this had happened in my family, my mother, my sisters and I would laugh our hearts out. The entire concept of my mother falling was hilarious - not worrisome.
After witnessing this incident, I felt guilty. My ten year old mind was worried whether I was a sadist; a psychotic sociopath who derives pleasure from her own mother's misery. But then I realized it was My Mother we were talking about. She is not some old, frail lady who needs to be helped up after falling. She is a strong, independent woman who cannot be harmed - physically or mentally. Someone who could pick me up if I fell down. And so the entire idea of her falling was a hilarious notion. She was my superhero.
When my mother fell sick, her being weak was unacceptable to me. I kept denying her aches and pains. I kept pushing her to be active. I wanted my mother to be my superhero, and she really tried hard to be one for me. At times, I wonder if I pushed her too hard, I wonder if she would have preferred a helping hand instead. But then I remind myself, it is My Mother we are talking about - a strong, independent woman who cannot be harmed - physically or mentally.
My friend's mother is still alive and well. I sometimes wonder what made me think of her as a frail lady back then. And then I think of my mother and I realize - I was comparing her to my Superhero.
Thank you Amma for fighting hard till your very last breath.
I was probably ten years old and it was a fateful day - Results of our final term exam along with Parent-Teacher meeting. Obviously I was tensed. The question looming was whether I would be ranked first or second. Second was unacceptable in our family, and my mother was in charge of keeping us aware of that. And my mind was not just worried about my results, but those of my two elder sisters too. Because unless all three of us did well, it wasn’t worth celebrating or being happy about. While we were finding a parking spot, one of my friends was walking by with her mother. Her mother slipped on the pavement and immediately my friend and her sister stopped in their tracks and helped their mother out. I clearly remember watching this from the backseat window of my car and finding it weird. I kept wondering why they helped their mother up. If this had happened in my family, my mother, my sisters and I would laugh our hearts out. The entire concept of my mother falling was hilarious - not worrisome.
After witnessing this incident, I felt guilty. My ten year old mind was worried whether I was a sadist; a psychotic sociopath who derives pleasure from her own mother's misery. But then I realized it was My Mother we were talking about. She is not some old, frail lady who needs to be helped up after falling. She is a strong, independent woman who cannot be harmed - physically or mentally. Someone who could pick me up if I fell down. And so the entire idea of her falling was a hilarious notion. She was my superhero.
When my mother fell sick, her being weak was unacceptable to me. I kept denying her aches and pains. I kept pushing her to be active. I wanted my mother to be my superhero, and she really tried hard to be one for me. At times, I wonder if I pushed her too hard, I wonder if she would have preferred a helping hand instead. But then I remind myself, it is My Mother we are talking about - a strong, independent woman who cannot be harmed - physically or mentally.
My friend's mother is still alive and well. I sometimes wonder what made me think of her as a frail lady back then. And then I think of my mother and I realize - I was comparing her to my Superhero.
Thank you Amma for fighting hard till your very last breath.
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