Stories about mother

Parenting: On Andy Murray’s loss and Judy Murray’s victory

I am not particularly interested in tennis but to keep my husband company, I watched the Murray-Federer Wimbledon final. And at the end of the match – while I, along with everyone in the whole world, had a lump in the throat during Andy Murray’s emotional interview –  it was only when I saw his mother weeping did I break down too. Judy Murray stayed poker-faced while her son gave his all against Roger Federer in the final match, unable to accomplish his historic bid to become the first Englishman to win the men’s singles title since 1936. ...

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Thank you God for giving me my father

A father is role model for his children. He is their first hero and their first inspiration. My father was also my role model; I always wanted to emulate him in whatever manner I could. Whether this meant adopting his dressing style, the way he ate, socialised with other people or the way he treated his children and other family members – I wanted to be exactly like him. Ziauddin Khan left this world on February 26, 1995 at 10:05pm; he was my father. Heartbroken and disillusioned, I stood by his bedside when his doctor informed me about his demise. My world ...

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Boys just can’t be girls

Sitting alone in a train compartment, I waited for my co-passengers to arrive in Bangalore. Like several people, I enjoy being a silent observer of those around me and particularly on a long journey that I was about to undertake, I figured, it was a fine pastime. I was headed from Bangalore to New Dehli.  A lady, not more than 35-years-old, struggled her way into my compartment carrying a rather heavy child in her left arm and balancing a huge suitcase in her right. Her hair undone, sweat rolling down her forehead, her eyes showed relief that she made it ...

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Stop the war

I dreamt of a destructed land last night, Walked around and met a wounded child, She was lying in between dead people, It was the oasis last night, she said in a pained voice, I was playing with my brother before he died, My father and mother kissed me before they were murdered beside me, I had a brother like you, but he was killed last night, Such is the case with all the girls after the oasis converted into a graveyard, I walked ahead and met a crying mother, We were sleeping last night, she said frantically, I had a son like you; he was killed by people ...

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“Yes, I don’t want children”

At forty, Faiza Abbas has been married for 15 years. The pitiful looks she receives started a couple of years after her first wedding anniversary. Initially, they were accompanied with encouraging and humble words like:  Oh, it’s only been three years, you’ll have kids soon enough, I’m sure. Don’t worry, there’s still time, you’re still young. About these remarks, Faiza states with a laugh: I used to think these aunties were more worried about my childless situation than I was! I didn’t really care for children, personally. At the beginning of my marriage, my career was just starting to take off and I didn’t want ...

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Changing times: ‘I always wanted a daughter’

Chandini is only about four feet, nine inches tall. Her body seems to have naturally bent from the strain of having carried four children, one after another, on her waist for about a decade now. She had her first child when she was 17-years-old.   She ruefully points at her first born, a boy, who was desperately trying to reattach a broken arm to a doll’s body, and says: I took one look at the child, and I couldn’t stop my tears She had wanted a daughter. Jagat, Chandini’s husband, earns his living by screening the trash and selling what is possible to the scarp ...

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Is it a crime to be a girl?

It was an hour of joy and happiness for my mother when the doctor told her she would have me in her arms in nine months. But this happiness turned into despair for my father and grandmother as they came to know that a girl would be born to their family. They forced my mother to kill me before I was born. Daddy, please don’t kill me. I won’t make you angry. I’ll be a good daughter; I won’t ask you for expensive clothes and toys. Please don’t kill me. But I was killed after just 30 days in my ...

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Remembering my Misil

Mother’s Day is here, but June 1, 1998 will never come again. Today I am writing about my mother, my Misil, for the first time in the last 13 years. She was a simple lady. We never knew her date or year of birth. The only thing we knew was that she was born during the barsaat (monsoon season). I don’t remember an instance when she took longer than 10 minutes to get ready to go somewhere. She never wore make-up. She was even simpler in her eating habits. She would eat anything except for baingan (eggplant). While cooking, she made her ownmasalas; her biryani was pretty ...

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Why Mother’s Day matters

I have never been a great proponent of the concept of Mother’s Day – or even Father’s Day. Dedicating days to celebrating every member of the family is not something that made sense to me – after all, you already had birthdays and anniversaries, right? Anything in excess of this is clearly a ploy by all those card-printing companies nagging at your guilt to spend more of your money and boost their sales As I have grown older I have come to realise the value of these days, randomly allocated to a day in the year to celebrate our parents’ contributions ...

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A mother, not a meal ticket

Enroute to the hospital where I interned, I would pass a woman who sat on the footpath right across from Sir Ganga Ram Hospital’s new emergency ward. She was very old and frail and it was easy to conclude at just a glance that she was not of the sound mind.  She just sat there begging, day in and day out. Sometimes, she would even lie down on the footpath, obviously completely tired out by the whole day’s exertion. At first, I thought her only home was the footpath. However, this was not the case. After two weeks just observing her, I finally ...

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