"Some Women Fear Fire And Some Women Simply Become It!!" #More To Me

Standing in the hospital room, tear filled eyes and face panicking...what was to be done? How could she just let him go when the doctor's swore on his good chances to survive? My heart went out to my aunt Sujata. My uncle urgently needed a liver transplant and the donor was supposed to be a family member. The matching donor was not available and there was no time to wait, the doctor's had warned. Sujata aunty stood in a fix. All the senior members of her in- law's  family were standing with her, holding a different ground. Her son, Chiraag, their family's iklauta chiraag, would not donate the liver to his own father. They would not let Chiraag go under the knife. The doctor's had ensured that other than being on rest for a couple of months, there would be no other ailment for Chiraag but still they wouldn't agree. "Or accidentally khuch ho Gaya to khaandaan aagey kaise badhega?" Sujata aunty was crying inconsolably. Twenty five years of being married, she still had no say regarding the lives of the two most important men of her life. They failed to understand that to save her husband, she had to compromise on her son's health, meaning double the heart ache for her own self. Chiraag's dadi ma insisted that Charu should become the donor and save her father's life. After all, her son had spent so much on making her a highly qualified doctor and marrying her lavishly, so she atleast owed that much to her father. Uff bhagwaanji! As if the parents had done the upbringing with vested interests! Sujata aunty did not know how to handle this gender biased mentality. For her Charu or Chiraag, it just meant lots of equivalent heartache. Charu agreed immediately. She would be happy to do it. But immediately her in law's came forth and refused. She was their's now and yet to start her own family. Right, feminism, free from gender bias-our society had grabbed the terminology so well but never ingrained them in its system. Dowry was now beautified as a parents right to gift their daughters. Sons are still holding  their bait to carry the goodness of the family name. Society ki seonk se Bhari gandi diwaro Ko nerolac ka paint Laga to diya but Gandgi ubharti to rahegi na?? One look at Sujata aunty and I knew she was devastated. I could not bear the brunt of the whole situation and moved out. I felt lifeless and in pain. My aunt had been a renowned singer when she gave up her career to be a homemaker and then a devoted mother to Charu and Chiraag. Never once had I heard her complaining about her lost identity. And today, with the air under her wings gone, she was financially dependent on her in -law's, she had no say as a wife, as a mother to her son or even her married daughter.

And what was I doing? Just the same. My body quivered with the thought of being in a similar situation. And I had simply rushed back home. My ten year son had been busy playing in the room with his grandma. I went and opened the almirah in my storeroom and removed a long back dumped file. I had tears glistening in my eyes. Tears that had held themselves for soo soo long. I opened the file to see my merit certificates, my U.G.C and JRF NET clearance certificates. Memories had flashed back. The excitement had been immense. Happiness gallore. My parents had the satisfaction of their daughter making a "family oriented career" in teaching. Two years down my research process and I had gotten married. And once I delivered Viaan, I chose to drop everything in the middle to be a devoted mother. No, I wasn't denied the permission but a no encouragement scene just never gave me the courage to ask for the permission either. Yes, bringing Viaan up made me so joyous that their was no room left for regret. My parents felt sad till date on their daughter losing the more in her to be a Mom only. 

In my cupboard, next to the file lay my diary. Oh god, how I had simply forgotten that I used to write poems and articles when I had been studying. And that I still do but only for Viaan to participate in his school competition. Besides that, were my painting brushes and colors, all dried up and wasted like I had been wasting the vast blessings God had granted me with. Going to teach could have been a problem for anyone but I had forgotten my hobby to paint and write as well in my ode to being a good mother. 

Jolted from within, I went to my university the very next day. Even after eleven years of non existent entity, all my professors remembered me so well for the work I had done. The response was overwhelming. They encouraged me that all wasn't lost. Out came the painting brushes as I began to put Colors in my life canvas as well. I enrolled myself as a blogger in a user friendly site," Mycity4kids" and started writing blogs. It was time to excavate the more to me.

One year from the incident, I continue to write blogs. I paint, though not any M.F.Hussain paintings but good enough for gifting them to family and friends. My research continuation is on the right path. And weekends are dedicated to teaching the less privileged ladies and children. No, I haven't become a bad Mom or wife but the more in me led to a happy me. It's all about getting more help externally and from family, it's all about managing the time, it's all about giving wings to your dreams, and it's all about realising the worth of your own happiness. My husband asked me," WHYall of a sudden? And wats the need?"

I'd like to sum up my blog by the apt answer which I gave him:

"Whilst I curbed my dreams..my passions, I was rarely asked "why",

Today I ask you,"why should I trod, when even I have the wings to fly. 

I have more in my identity, than just being a Mom, my inner strength, will and capabilities deserve more respect than a talking Tom.

Creative satisfaction and independence , I plead, Accept - there is more to me and that's my basic need.

Women are like onions, oft I am told, with many passions...many layers...many capacities to  unravel and unfold." 

# more to me