A Mother in India

Another home - a new life.

It has been many months since I posted here. Months which were periods of major changes and adjustments for our family for we moved home again - in the month of August, a time when it’s not too hot out here. But this year, August was like the scorching month of May - intensely hot and exhausting. As I packed my home yet again in the old wooden boxes and cartons - this time it was with a feeling of deep nostalgia. My husband had retired from the Indian Air Force and we were moving out into a different home and stepping into a new life. I had till now known no other life except this I thought as I packed my old saris in an even older steel trunk which my father had bought for my mother during his days in the Royal Air Force. How would these changes affect each of us I wondered?

As I went through my daughter’s baby clothes and old photographs, I wondered as always as to why I did not see that something was amiss at times and done something then? Why was I not a stronger mother and been more firm with our families as I was now? Especially with the ones that I knew that had hurt my daughter deeply with their careless condescending behaviour and comments. I lacked the courage then to speak up for fear always froze me when I wanted to speak up to the elders of the family that what was being done was wrong. No longer now. Could I have prevented schizophrenia from entering our lives if I had? I do not know.

Whenever we move home which has been often, memorabilia from the past spills out of the old boxes stirring memories and moments of the past - difficult yet adventurous times moving from place to place, making a home - no time to think just work throughout the days and sleep exhausted at nights. But now things have changed. For the past ten years with each change of home comes moments of waiting and watching alertly yet discreetly if the new change of home would trigger the beginning of a relapse. This was after we moved home to a place in Central India - my daughter told us as to how even locating her toothbrush in a different place in a different room lead to a surge of stress which was not within her control. Concentrating on reading the newspaper something which she loves becomes so difficult, she said. Ever since her room is the last to be packed and the first in the new home to be unpacked so that she is surrounded by the familiar curtains, music and books.

Perhaps it was the heat or that I am older, I do things slowly this time but my daughter helps me to settle down in our new home. What made this move so memorable are caring people who came to help us pack and move and loving friends sending us home - cooked meals. Also concerned friends my daughter and I met on the net - living across the oceans - we have never seen yet asking if all was well with our family. For these I feel blessed.