I fell in love with English literature at the age of fifteen. Two years later, I fell in love with the guy who was to become my best friend and partner for life. I would have been extremely happy with these two loves. Looking around at the lives that I see now, I am extremely grateful that I still have these two in my life. But time had kept aside a truly wonderful gift for me. At the age of twenty nine, I fell in love again. It was the moment that I became a mother.
Growing up, I was not a very maternal person. I didn't subscribe to all the mushiness associated with marriage and bearing children. I loved my siblings, of course, but I seldom had any affinity for children as such. I would tilt my head and look on curiously when female relatives of my generation played house and found great joy in pretending their ragamuffin dolls were their kids. I'd rather climb trees and dream away in their high branches or immerse myself in a book.
But all that changed when I became a mother. I was brought up to be a career woman, there was no other option available at the time. It was what I was expected to be even after getting married. But it flipped the exact moment that I became a mother. As my babies started expressing their unique personalities, I understood that I could not ever leave them and go to work. I couldn't bear to think of getting to know about all their antics secondhand. I couldn't miss their smiles or tears. I couldn't not be the person to take care of them when they were ill. That is how I came to be a stay-at-home mother (SAHM) despite all the flak that I had to take from my well-wishers.
Yesterday, I watched a video on YouTube: Feminism, Mom and the Game of Chess . The speaker in the video describes his mother in the stereotypical Indian mom way - the mother who cooks four different types of breakfast a day to suit all tastes, the lynch-pin of the house without whom the family has to subsist on Quaker Oats all the time and without whom the house became a pig sty. The woman who gives up playing chess because her husband doesn't allow her to participate in the nationals. Ultimately when the father orders the mother to give up her promotion and get back home, she immediately obeys. It is heartening to see that the son cares for his mother's dreams and wishes, but never once does he say that he offered to help her in her chores, nor did he or his brother learn to cook and clean the house so that his mother could pursue her career and get what recognition was due to her.
Although my decision to become a SAHM was partly unconscious, I was sure of one thing - I would not be a martyr mother. That was a decision I took long ago. I was determined not to become a door mat. So I make one kind of breakfast each day - according to the thing I've made, it might be thoroughly disliked by at least one person in my family. E.g., Kunjunni hates upma, DH dislikes wheat dosa, they both don't like pancakes and Ani hates all vegetables in general. If anyone doesn't like the particular dish of the day, they are free to fix themselves something that they do like. And of course, I make my own favorites sometimes even if nobody else likes them in particular.
When Karthi was being built, the thing I most wanted to get right was the kitchen. I wanted it to be an open-plan kitchen near the living room. DH hated the idea. But I was adamant about that one point. Because I knew that if the kitchen was relegated to an invisible corner of the house, I would be the only one working in it while the menfolk lolled around on sofas watching TV. This was one valuable piece of knowledge I had gained from living in seven different rentals during our marriage of which two had open-plan kitchens. DH and I compromised by having the option of closing off the view of the kitchen from the living room with curtains if required.
So our boys have grown up watching me cook and helping me as part of their daily lives. I have made sure that my kids know the rudiments of taking care of the home. With two boys, it is easier to do all the chores by myself instead of having to direct them constantly. We don't do chore charts and such, but I ask them to clean their rooms, fold their clothes and occasionally do their laundry. Kunjunni has a knack for doing things and a genuine liking for learning how to cook. When I went to the Attukal Ponkala last week, he astonished me by making iddlis by himself without step-by-step instructions from me. He also told me where he had erred slightly, but all of them had a jolly time at breakfast.
One of the things I love observing while visiting people is the family dynamics, especially in relation to women. Some women are genuinely generous and derive the greatest pleasure from giving away the best of their food to others. Conversely there are also some women who make it a point to choose the burnt, underdone or otherwise imperfect parts of food for themselves and then look about for approval and appreciation from their audience. They make me gag with their piety and their naked approval-seeking attitude. In my family, we share and share alike. Occasionally, if I am feeling very generous, I might give up a portion of dessert. But that is it.
With all the recent interest in mind-body medicine, I have been going through Deepak Chopra's and Louise L. Hay's works on the subject. In the book You Can Heal Yourself, Hay outlines the emotional states that cause different diseases to manifest in different parts of the body. She attributes cancer to resentments, secret grief and hatreds. She attributes menstrual problems to rejection of one's femininity, guilt and fear. Breast problems are directly linked to motherhood issues. Taking everything into consideration, it seems to me that it is important for a woman to make self-loving choices or end up having dire health problems. And from what I have seen of some women succumbing to such diseases in old age, they will be further criticized for being inconsiderate because they never cared for their own health while toiling away for others.
I have really come to love the art of homemaking over the past few years even if I was brought up to look on it as drudgery. I also don't think that my home or garden needs to be immaculate showpieces to show how industrious a homemaker I am. I am not what one calls "house-proud" at all. A decent level of cleanliness, a lot of comfort and personal touches are the things I go for. And of course, I love cooking things that my family loves. I would never have taken up baking if my kids hadn't pushed me into it.
One thing I have come to notice in life is that if you keep constantly giving up the things you like for the convenience of others, they will just take it for granted. So if I feel like going away for a meditation retreat, I inform my family in advance, take moderate steps to ensure their well being in my absence and I go. I don't cook and freeze meals for their use all through my absence. If a literary festival comes to town, I see how I can accommodate it into my schedule without disrupting anything absolutely important, and I go. DH used to see me crocheting and criticize it as a time-wasting activity. But I still do it because I love it. Being a homemaker is a 24/7 job the whole year through. It doesn't change even on vacations with family. So I deserve such small breaks.
The martyr thing? Not for me, no sirree!
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