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| Sunday, 12 May 2002 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Mother's Day: The heart wrenching reality by Umangi de Mel
A nagging wind blows through the lamp lit streets (of Colombo). A rain of lilac Tababuia blossoms drop onto the somewhat lonely pavement... An emaciated figure coils into a threadbare gunny bag underneath the purple rain of flowers. No, this is not a painting from the Gallery but one of the busiest streets in Colombo 2. Jane Nona-70, a mother of two seems reluctant to dig up old wounds at first. Then she slowly starts voicing her thoughts, in a voice that is more a croak. "Adha hari seethalai Nona, (it is a chilly day) I might have to move to another place soon. "Why is she on the street? "Ane Nona, I had two daughters who I brought up all by myself. My husband died when they were still tiny tots." Her voice breaking at the fragments of memories of happier times, she says, " My two beauties got fitting jobs and I was a happy mother. But when they started having their own families, I did not want to mess up their lives, which is why I chose to get away from them..." Jane Nona wipes a tear from the back of her hand. She seems to have resolved herself to be content with where she lives now....
Jane Nona's tale of woe is not an abberation or an exception, but an unsavoury reality that is almost a growing norm in modern Sri Lanka. The plight of mothers who have lovingly nurtured their offsprings to adulthood but then had to walk out- into the streets, or homes for the aged because there is no room for them in their children's lives or their homes. The sorry plight of these mothers make the extravagant fanfare, concocted by the city hotel look almost conspicuously indecent. "Mama I love you, mama I care.." songs for mother percolating through the speaker systems of the posh shopping malls; Cards sealed with words of love and gratitude for the queen of your heart, adorning the shelves at expensive gift shops: constant radio promotions for `dear mother': sumptuous feasts and matching fanfare organised at grand venues with love and affection...All for the much-loved woman in your life. All also relegating 'Mothers' Day' to a niche that is highly commercialised, absolutely extravagant, and almost indecent: What does `Mothers' day' mean to women who have no place to call home and no children to come calling, or even call them mother? "Vendala kiyannam, dharuwo gena ahanna epa.. (please do not ask about my children) begs S. Misilin-83, a mother of two living at a home for the aged. Failing to fathom the words she spoke, I sit beside her. "It has been three months since I came to this Home and the heartache is immense to see the amount of mothers who suffer." She says thanking those who run the home, before she takes my hand in hers. "We are very grateful to these kind 'Mahaththayas' who give us shelter when the rest of the world turned its back on us.." She gives me a smile full of irony when I tell her that the same world is celebrating Mothers' Day. "Children should be excused, since they still do not seem to know much about these things... Mothers, strive for years to see them grow and then help them to bring up the third generation." Turning her tear stained face away, she gazes at the high pillars before her. Every muscle of her face tightens when she says her children do not care for her. She says that she lives a moderate life at the home, a life that has no more bonds. "Bonds bring sorrow and pain Podi Nona, nothing else..," says Misilin tears streaming down her cheeks and dejection written in her stance. The old and the disabled, some lying motionless in their beds, some lost in their own thoughts, some engaged in their work and others waiting outside with anxious eyes towards the gate... These are the mothers who have been discarded by the children they lovingly cared for nurtured and mankind into adulthood. Today, dejected, unloved and lonely, they eagerly wait for their children if not to take them home, then atleast to come and visit them and call them `mother' once again. G. W. Nandawathi, 62 says it is her third month at the Home. A mother of four, she pours her heart out "All my children are married. My only son is a soldier, who feels very sorry for me, yet there is nothing he can do about it either. A daughter of mine used to care for me but I really do not want to burden them," It is her moment of glory when she says that her eldest daughter is a manager of a famous glass company. A proud mother, she pauses to rejoice, through tear strung eyes. "I have made up my mind, because I know I have no one but myself." What does she think about Mothers' Day celebrations? "Those should be held. A mother deserves that much, but gratitude should not be limited to just one day. The mother is a queen which is an evergreen truth." She sighs and says poignantly that her only wish is to be with her children who seldom come to see her, "I can't do without their love.." Liyanora Aponso, 65 says that it has been two years since her arrival at the Home. "I have got two married sons who can't take care of me, because their wives won't let them. My youngest son chased me out of his house because my daughter-in-law nagged him about me drinking some water from their pot..." she fights back tears and says that she has been almost a paraplegic for the past 12 years. Her voice barely audible, she says "I need to go to my elder son. I have sent so many telegrams. It is the only thing I want in my life, please find my son and tell him I want to come home.." she chokes. "What is there to be celebrated when millions of mothers like myself ache for a little love and affection from our children? Who is there to give a little love to us?" She raises a question to the world that appears ready to spend unnecessary big bucks for a Mothers' Day, that seems almost meaningless in the wake of such anguish. B. Nandawathi, 70 has taken refuge at the Home for the second time after having fallen ill. Why has she decided to come to a Home after falling ill? Nandawathi smiles, unlike the others, who stare out of the window in agony and says "I adopted a son and gave him good education, gave him everything. All my love and happiness.... It was only after a child custody case that I got to adopt him. I wrote all my wealth in his name and got him married, with a grand wedding," she pauses, this time to cover her eyes with the hands. "I loved him so very much, I could never breast-feed him, but I gave him the best milk I could get and the rest of my possessions. And now he barely acknowledges my existence..." says Nandawathi. They say that a mother has no limits to her love, no matter what. And this is amply demonstrated by Nandawathi. "I guess my son, who is in his early 50s has no choice, no matter how much he wants to take care of me ... he is not a rich man, and he can hardly make the ends meet since he has a large family to provide for..." she seems genuine when she says so to actually counteract her previous words, if in case it has done her son bad. A bony figure linger before the television at the Home, her empty eyes watching nothing in particular. The others, some in brown studies and some combing their silvery white thatches. The colour of life seems to have drained out of them, their thoughts seem to have taken them to a faraway place...confused between the past and the bleak present, not alone yet lonely, wondering if they could spend the autumn of life happily...
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