There is a lot of stuff my mother gets mad about.
She gets mad when I wear shorts. So, when I showed her these shorts that I wanted to buy, she dismissed me with
“aisi cheeze pahnne waali nahi hoti”.
Then we went to the Tuesday market after a few days. She picked up a few black shorts with white stripes on the sides, said they looked like the Adidas one I showed her on my phone.
We bought that one. She had another one picked.
“iska kapda achha nahi hai, kahin aur se lelenge”
I was listening to ‘Say So’ the other day when she walked into my room. Doja Cat in the ‘Hot Pink’ poster was visible on the laptop screen. To say she was disgusted would be an understatement. The next time this happened was when ‘Juicy’ was playing (yes, I’m obsessed with Doja). Mumma for reasons doesn’t exactly approve of her. She looked at me with the same disgusted expression,
“yeh kya sunti rahti hai tu”
Scrunched up her nose and left the room smiling to herself.
Mumma gets mad every time I ask her if I can cut my hair short. I love short hair. She doesn’t.
“hume toh lambe baalo main hi achhi lagti hai tu”.
After a few days, when I brought the matter up for discussion again, she said,
“abki baar Parul aunty ke parlour main nahi jaenge, last time jyada paise liye the unhone aur achhe bhi nahi kaate”
I am very sure if my mom ever gets to read my journal, she’ll have a lot of stuff to get mad about. This time when I accidentally left it where it wasn’t supposed to be she shouted from the kitchen,
“ise uthale yahan se, koi bhi padh lega”
I go upstairs when my friend calls and it usually takes us hours. When I’m on the phone past 8.00 PM, Mumma shouts from downstairs,
“saamne waali aunty kahengi ki inki ladki itni raat ko kis se baat kar rahi hai!! sharam nahi hai bilkul bhi! itni der tak kya baat karte ho”
“neeche aakar baat karle”
I told her once, that I’m thinking about giving up bras completely. She was mortified.
“yeh koi baat hai?! Kya kya chalta rahta hai dimaag main? Latak jaengi 30 ki umr main hi”, gesturing towards my breasts.
“Kal se pahan lena bra, yeh badtameezi mat karo”
I didn’t. I still don’t. The matter never came up again with her.
She gets mad when I ask her if I can go out with my friends.
“yeh party ka culture nahi hai humara, na papa ko pasand hai”
I bunked quite a few classes when I was in 12th to go to ‘baba ki hatti’ with friends. When I told her this, maybe a week ago, she said,
“hume sab pta hai, bataegi nahi toh pta nahi chalega?”
“kya kya khaate the?”
She gets angry at the majority of the stuff I do. She kinda has to.
Not everyone has the privilege of rebellion. Not everyone can afford the revolution. Not every revolutionary can revolt and expect to be in one piece after that. Not every revolutionary burns down structures, some pass on that fire. Some can’t even afford to do that, they light a bit of that fire inside them, hide some of that somewhere.
Train your eyes to see it. Train your soul to ignite it.
When we visit our nani’s village, Mumma goes to visit her old friends. I go along. This one friend of hers told me one incident when I was 16.
They were going to their college and some guys stood on both sides of the gates to prevent the girls from entering the college as some kind of a joke. The girls started taking a different route. Then one day it was raining and the girls couldn’t go through their alternative path because their salwars would be ruined (it was a kuccha road).
Mumma proposed to go through the main gate (attendance was necessary). Her friend, Meenakshi mausi recalled how they all were very scared but walked through that gate with the guys still standing there. She recalled how scary it was and laughed looking at Mumma. The next day though the path was still wet, they managed to go through their alternative route only.
I remember asking her why they didn’t complain to someone. She said the alternative path was suggested by a teacher.
Meenakshi mausi told me how I’m just like my Mumma when she was young.
After coming back, I asked Mumma what changed because I couldn’t see, couldn’t even imagine how I resembled her in any way whatsoever.
She said after her marriage she learned to control a lot of things. Learned to adjust, learned to compromise.
Mumma is not against the revolution. Never has been. She is the revolution. She breathes that privilege, that fire; she breathes that freedom into my lungs every day. We are not different.
We were having dinner when I told her she shouldn’t have married. My brother said before she could, “hum paida nahi hote phir”. She continued to watch Super Dancer Chapter 4. “iss Geeta maa ke earing dekh, kitne bde hai”
Too big of a sacrifice, I think.
This article has been written by Manvi, Ist year
