Real Woman – Real Story
I am Jayanti Banerjee. I am a wife, mom and a teacher. I have worked as a principal and teacher for last 20 years. My children have grown up and are aspiring higher education in USA and Bangalore. I am here to tell you about the woman in my life whom I love and adore the most – my mother, who is now 80 years old.
My life is so uneventful that I don’t see or think of any interesting or awe inspiring event in my life. It’s an average life of an average Indian housewife. There is no display of bravery or courage. What ever came on my way I accepted it meekly. But since you have honored me by asking I would try to dive into the depths of my life and find out something that might be of some use to you.
My mom is a very courageous woman. She has tremendous mental strength and an amazing foresight. Though very delicate looking and petite she is an epitome of patience and wisdom. Hence I think I must start with her. I have always seen her to be quiet and accepting but always doing the right thing even at the cost of all our personal comfort and pleasure. My father a sportsman, tall and handsome had a certain sort of pride and arrogance. He did not consider my mom to be his equal and mom had no grudge about it. She had silently and gracefully accepted it. She was happy to love him irrespective of the fact whether she got the same amount of love or not. She believed that love transforms a man. At the end when my dad was old he was like a child always waiting for her approval and affection. But I always wondered how she was happy with this when she had suffered all the humiliation and disgrace during her prime. But she never complained and was always happy with what she had.
My dad died of Cancer. My mom never told him that he was a cancer patient. She nursed him day and night with a smiling face, never letting the gloom and distress showing on her face. While all the time she knew that his days were numbered. She was totally disheveled both mentally and financially. But she never let anybody know anything of her mental agony. (I cannot forgive myself for not being of any help to her in those days of disaster).
When my father was dying she was there besides him. My aunt was also there. It is my aunt who told me later that as my mom realized that my dad’s last moments have come she jumped out of the bed ran to her ‘pooja room’ (Prayer room) to get the ‘VagbatGita’ (Holy book of Hindus). She placed it on his heaving chest (it is a belief among the Hindus that ‘Gita’ is the way to salvation). Later my mom told me that she had to do it since she loved him so much. She said she would have the rest of her life to cry and wail for the loss but at that point of time that was her final duty to her soul mate. This incident seems to be a great example of strength and wisdom mixed with a sense of love and duty.