Swapna GopinathIt was the month of June, a rainy June, as it is every year in Kerala. I was pregnant and was supposed to deliver my baby on May 26th. I was excited, scared, anxious and thrilled – not able to
comprehend the sea of emotions overwhelming me. I was young and guided by a zillion family members who had taken care of me through the months of my pregnancy, fed me well and shared my anxieties. I was ready to finally hold my baby in my arms – but May 26th came and went uneventfully. My father, a doctor by profession, consoled me. “First baby will take some time,” he said. I was keenly aware of my body, and my baby’s movements. But I was also getting tense. On May 29th, I visited my gynaecologist, who tried to calm me and advised me to get admitted to the hospital. By May 30th, I was getting impatient. But then, my doctor seemed a little tense too. Soon it was a crisis, the baby was in distress, and a C-session followed it, and I became a mother.
I still remember her as this tiny little being with long legs and arms and a scrunched-up face. I no longer had any of the emotions I was expected to feel. There was no surge of maternal love and the gush of emotions one often associates with motherhood. I was suddenly numb and almost insensitive to everything else but the pain. It was monsoon rains. The incessant downpour and the grey skies made me sad. My body had lost its purpose; it seemed void. My daughter’s needs were the day-to-day needs of a crippled person. There was nothing sublime about it. Breastfeeding was torturous, and my body was weak and feverish. I had to stay in the hospital for over a week while I felt lost and perpetually melancholic.
Then I returned home feeling confused. I now had an infant sleeping in my arms, but I was yet to be a mother. I did not have the courage to share my thoughts with anyone. Then one night, as I was sitting with my granny, I told her – of my numbness, my sorrow, my lack of motherly affection, and she consoled me. She said: “A mother is not born the day the child is born. It takes months and years. Sometimes, you may just fail to connect. But be patient and be ready to learn. It can be quite fascinating.”
And thus began my journey, growing up with my daughter – while she grew up learning to negotiate in this world full of complexities and absurdities, I learnt to be a better human being, capable of loving another person and nurturing her into a compassionate person.
After decades of learning, I have realised that I am no longer just the mother guiding my child through life. I have also been learning from her – and the first lesson was about love. She taught me to communicate with non-human beings, to take care of them and love them immensely. She mentored me to remove my blinders and see the world around me. I was born anew when we started having cats and dogs at home, without chains and dog houses. They slept with us and came to us when in pain, trusting in our love and care. When a 12-year-old sits up at night with the newly-acquired puppy feeling lost in the new home, you learn to support her. Soon you are worrying about the puppy, about her habits and proudly boasting about her achievements to others!
Then one day, she decided to leave the home and chase her passions. I knew she was scared, but I also knew that she was courageous. She was bold enough to stand on her own and look in the eyes of adversity and remain calm. When she told me one day, as the sun was setting and we were sitting on the balcony of her apartment, that it was never too late for me to follow my dreams, I knew I should.
So, when did the roles reverse? When did my little girl grow up to be a strong woman? When did I learn to respect her thoughts? Or when did she earn my respect along with my unflinching love? I am still learning from her, for she has a strikingly different temperament than me. I am glad we are different because she looks up to me when in distress. She knows my world is a vastly different one, and my views will challenge her notions and demand newer perspectives. So, we are evolving every day – as mother and daughter – as two beings, sometimes lost, sometimes in pain, but mostly rooted and strong in the belief that we will hold each other when in need!
