“Happy Birthday, Mumma!” Madhura’s tranquil morning stroll along the beach was interrupted by Abhi’s much anticipated call. She chatted with him for a while before hanging up.
Soaked in the magnificence of the ocean and marvelling at its profundity, she wondered at the similarities between her and the vast sea, for both share profound emotions that surge within, awaiting ebullition. She couldn’t help but dive into her past.
The young Madhura was an ambitious scholar married to a college professor. Under the cumbersome duties of a dedicated, supportive wife, a loving and caring mother, and a middle school teacher, the real Madhura had lost her identity. Her duties had taken precedence over herself. In her own priority list, she stood last, and hence, so was in other’s.
Then came the time, when every relationship she had invested her entire life in, left her one by one. Her children left for higher studies, leaving her behind to reel in her empty nest. Then, she lost her only companion, her beloved husband to an accident. With a poignant silence, she embraced the widow’s veil, never complained about her loss, or cribbed about her loneliness.
She knew her children were busy in their lives. But, the mother’s heart always yearned for a glimpse, a touch, or a sound of her children. And all she ever received were the weekly phone calls and a customary call on her birthdays and Mother’s Day.
A chance meeting with her college friend, Shobha, changed the course of her life. In Shobha’s unconventional, defiant philosophy, Madhura found deliverance from her years of desolation and solitude. She rediscovered her old self, rekindled her passion for singing, that was buried deep under the sands of time. She gradually learned to live for herself, prioritising her happiness over the rotten societal norms. After ages, she had finally known what true happiness meant and felt like.
When Shobha offered her to shift to the old-age home where she lived, Madhura happily agreed.
But then came the objection from her self-proclaimed guardians. Her children, who couldn’t manage to visit her for once in years, were so concerned that they flew down to her overnight.
“What are you saying, Mumma? No, we can’t let you do this!” her son declared.
“Mumma, that place isn’t for you. We will arrange here for whatever you need.” offered her daughter, intently. Madhura smiled at the irony of her daughter’s statement.
“By God’s grace, I can sustain myself. All I need is someone to talk to, to share my joys, my despair, to lean on someone emotionally, not financially.
“What would people think? Have you ever thought about how society will judge us for this? They would invariably accuse us of neglect,” Abhi stated, agitatedly.
“So, what matters to you most is your reputation? And have you ever bothered about what your mother feels, or what she wants?” Madhura’s voice rose a pitch higher.
“It’s acceptable for you if your mother dies a lonely death one day in this desolate house. But it would be a matter of prestige for you if she chooses to live the last years of her life happily around her favoured company. Bravo, my son!” she said nonchalantly.
None of her children had the audacity to object after that. They realised the futility of their objections.
It’s been almost a year now that Madhura is living the best phase of her life, free from all duties, all expectations, boundless, carefree and effortlessly happy, learning to love herself a little more with each passing day.
As the tidal waves splashed on her body, breaking into a million ripples, Madhura swam ashore to her present. Relishing the sun-bathed morning sea and the golden sand beneath, she stretched her arms wide and gaily exclaimed, “Happy Birthday to Me!”
