Rebel Without A Pause

I think my rebellion started right from inside my mother?s womb. I just refused to come out long after I had completed my 9 months stay inside. My mother and her doctors had to give it their all to drive me out of there.  And if that was any sign of things to come then mommy dearest was clueless. She has been absolutely full of mercy and forgiveness in handling that little rascal.  For, twenty-Nine years hence I can proudly vouch for not having budged an inch from that first day.  

When the time came for a name to be chosen for my Christening: I am alleged to have broken all hell loose when I was called by the name they first chose for me until they came up with something else.  (Thank heavens for that for obvious reasons!) Now what that also proves is that my small (bird) brain worked overtime (uselessly) even then when I was 30 odd days old and it has only grown proportionately.  Usually this rebellion stuff stems from the idea (stupid) that ‘I am not LOVED by either of my parents or both’. But not to worry, my rebellion had nothing to do with my mother not liking me instead it had everything to do with me not liking her, a silly notion that I willfully inflicted upon myself. “Bekaar Dimag Ka Fitur”  (Please someone try and figure that out for me.)

Well, my mother said turn left, I turned right: Rebel without a pause, mom said wear white, I wore black: Rebel without a pause, she said collect water and save it cause it is going to run out, I collected water and threw it: Rebel without a pause, I spilt the milk that was meant to be drunk and when there was supervision I drank it and then threw up. Howzzat for rebellion? I crossed all boundaries when she said study and pass the class but I studied and failed the class: Rebel without a pause! Really? And believe you me I have never actually gotten out of that vicious circle of failure ever since.

One would have thought that, this last rebellion would have straightened me up but Oh! No! I beg to differ. Refer back and trace the growth of my brain. 

But what set me thinking and subsequently writing this stuff is a silly incident, really. There was this tinned meat at home; I just picked it up when mom walked in. She said: empty the can in a pan, boil it and eat it. But He? he?. he?. I am not conditioned to let go of an opportunity to rebel. I opened the can, emptied a part of it on my plate and started eating. There definitely was a look of the proverbial Cheshire cat who had gotten its cream, not on my face though (guess I don’t need to mention that). My mom asked me “So how is it?” with an  ‘I told you so smirk on her face’. And I said “Hmm.. its great !” trying to match her expression for expression externally whereas from the inside I was thinking: “HOLY COW! This is my worst rebellion ever”.  The meat tasted like dead duck and it doesn’t seem like it is going to leave my tongue for a loooooooong time to come.      

Time and again my mother’s formed intuitions have beaten mine, time and again her wisdom has proved larger than mine. Time and again she has proved that there is no one else on earth that can love me as much as she can. But as twisted as it is I just cannot get myself to accept it. I have always worn the best of clothes, gone to the best of schools and colleges and been right there on top with the stars. And I didn’t even have anything to do with it, it was all my mom’s doing and I still didn’t get it.

Why is it so difficult for me to understand that I am a reflection of her, I am a neat copy of her in all attributes, down to her looks.  I like it but I am afraid to say it. Why? Ask my twisted brain.  If I had the courtesy to count one for every hundred times she had forgiven me, then I would have broken Sachin Tendulkar?s test record.    

We have all watched and loved ‘FRIENDS’. In one of their episodes, the character Phoebe is angry with Ross, nobody knows why.  Ross is constantly begging her to forgive him even if he cannot remember anything wrong he has done to Phoebe. Why him? Phoebe herself can’t remember why she is angry with Ross. After a lot of ‘picking brains’ she relates him the incident: Ross once left Phoebe stranded on a deserted Island and went away with someone else. But Ross still cannot remember when. That?s when Phoebe realizes that it was just a dream. I can liken my situation with my mother to Phoebe?s with Ross, except I can?t even blame it on a silly dream. 

What is it that makes such a simple and loving and probably the only trustworthy relationship of all, this complicated?  Every problem I had was directly related to my mother, every failure was because of my mother. I just did not give her a break. And through all that she kept treating me like a princess.

Outside our home I am the best behaved, I behave as though I am in contention for the citizen of the year award. At home I am just like this woman possessed. Tell you what? The reputation you gather outside does not count for a dime if you have not treated your family with love and forgiveness. For, wise men say:  charity begins at home. Why is it that when I scream I can blame it on the wretched day I have had and when my mother does it, it has to be because she doesn’t like me?  I know all these are only excuses to make myself more miserable.

I think it will be easier for me when I begin to understand that mothers are the most loving and forgiving of all creations. Their love is unconditional. They also stand for wisdom and experience and that what is right, 90% of the time. (less 10% for when they say: “wear that one it will suit you better? or “wear your hair like this you will look good on you” or “don?t worry, the red top matches with the green skirt just fine go ahead”, etc.)

Of late, I have had atleast three of my friends telling me “I wish I had listened to my mother carefully when she placed her points and argued and eventually cried?. Two of them had married against their parents wishes and one quit the job because her husband promised to take care of her. I don’t want to be among the crowd that says: “I wish I knew then what I know now.” THAT MOTHERS ARE ALWAYS RIGHT! Because, as much as we would hate to believe it: They are not prejudiced against us, infact they have our best interest at heart when they make decisions, any decision, even that which affects them.

Author: Rashmi Diana- India