Sunday, August 20, 2000		Life Ties

NORMALLY wary of getting into long drawn-out conversations while travelling, I was glad I got talking to this smart well-turned out woman. She was a sprightly 70-year-old (but did not look a day over 55), who was returning from the first overseas trip that she had undertaken alone. When I marvelled at her enthusiasm, she listed out half-a-dozen power-packed plans for the coming decade. By the end of the three-hour journey, I had traversed the entire length and breadth of her life and could only stand back and say, "I wish that when I am that old I can hold myself with the same dignity and sense of purpose".

She got married when she was 17 and had a string of babies by the time she was 30. Five out of her seven children survived. Her husband was in the Railways. The family moved with him to all the small and big towns he was transferred to. She loved being with the children. Teaching was, therefore, a natural option. She said that she would forget she was a greying 40-year-old when she sang, danced, jumped and hopped with her kindergartners. She was the favourite teacher of a generation of students who went through DPS, one of Delhi’s leading schools.

All their children went on to specialise in different fields. Two of the girls married men of their choice and the third settled for an arranged match. One son was in the USA and the other was working in Mumbai. They were in no hurry to get tied down to the bondage of matrimony. She and her husband reconciled to the way their children chose to live. They were content in the knowledge that they had provided a solid foundation which may not have been luxurious but rested on the strong bonds of familial love.

After retirement, they moved to Indore where the family had its ancestral home. It was around this time that their domestic boat began to rock. The youngest daughter and son-in-law died in a tragic car crash, leaving behind a three-year-old daughter. The paternal grandparents felt it was best if they brought her up. The elder daughter’s marriage was falling apart and she was urging her parents to take her away from her marital home. They tried to salvage her marriage but things seemed beyond redemption. Her husband had a long list of grievances. However, what sounded the death-knell for their marriage was his announcement of remarriage. The daughter, too, seemed relieved to sign the divorce papers. She along with her two sons, moved in with her parents at Indore.

Life changed completely for the senior couple. Both had cultivated a circle of friends and were enjoying a hectic social life which now had to be toned down. While they were still trying to rehabilitate the divorced daughter and help the youngest grand daughter cope with the trauma of her parents’ death, the US-based son decided to return to his roots. He had made enough money and was terribly homesick.

Job options in Indore were limited so he set up a business. Five years later, the demand for his product slumped. His employees’ had to be given a golden handshake and he had to look for something else to remain occupied. Meanwhile, he got married locally. There were

major adjustment problems as his wife refused to see eye to eye with her sisters-in-law. The parents advised him to move into a house of his own and to take charge of his family and life. He was worried because Indore was a small place and a decision like this would be grist to the rumour

mill but his mother felt that in the name of peace and domestic harmony it was important he set up home without the baggage of an extended family.

For parents, who had mentally prepared themselves for the empty nest syndrome and planned to relish the last phase of their lives, the demands of running a full house all over again was something that needed getting used to. Moreover, at this stage they found their financial resources diminished, and energy levels dipping. But they soldiered on till her husband died of heart attack. In spite of the fact that her children rallied around her, she felt alone and incapable of handling the day-to-day crises which life kept throwing up. There were times when she would dream of waking up and not finding any of children, grandchildren, their ayahs and friends around her and being alone with her memories.

Not one to be knocked down by fate, she picked herself up and set about putting her house in order. She motivated her older daughter to put her education to good use. There was no point in crying over a broken marriage and a cad of a husband. Both mother and daughter decided to open a nursery school of their own. Since the mother had already built a name for herself as an educationist, the take-off was smooth. The NRI son was made a business associate and a formal loan was procured from him. Within two years the school had its systems in place, an eminent managing committee had been constituted and plans of turning it into a primary school were afoot.

By now she was close to 70. The school had become a success. She had filled in as midwife, nurse, nanny, babysitter and counsellor for her children and grandchildren, giving them that little extra free

dom and peace of mind to go ahead and pursue their goals and dreams. Now she felt she owed it to herself to spend the rest of her years the way she wanted to. She had a frank and intimate chat with her children. They were all doing well. They had to be prepared for a life without her anyway.

She told them she was taking the world tour which she and her husband had always wanted to take, and then she intended to spend some time with her ailing older sister in Chandigarh. Initially, they were unsure but when they saw how determined she was and how minutely she had worked out the details, they agreed to let her go.

She had just returned after a two-month holiday in Europe, the USA, the UK and was on her way to Chandigarh when met her. I couldn’t help asking her what it felt like to first prepare oneself to accept the fact that one day one’s children would go their own way and then see them come crawling back into the nest with wounds and disappointments, expecting them to nurse them back to recovery. Is one’s duty as a parent never supposed to end? Should parents be expected to put their own feelings, plans and expectations on the backburner and revert to active parenting at a stage when they need to be looked after themselves? She had a calm and tranquil smile as she said, "The decision is entirely ours. In principle, thought and deed, a parent is always there for his child. In fact, our sixth sense becomes so strong where our progeny is concerned that when they are distressed we feel a twinge of anxiety even if they are across the seven seas. At the same time, we must make them self-sufficient not just in terms of qualifications and position in life, but emotionally and spiritually, too, so that they can emerge as survivors. Last, but not the least, we must respect our status as individuals in our own right. I may be a wife, mother and daughter but I am also a person. And I expect my children to understand and support that."