Some have been distanced by geography, others thrown closer by circumstances, and those who’ve lost their mums feel a gaping void. Sunday Times charts connections lost and found
Still making memories, but on video calls
Indrajit De | 52, London
Mom Indrani | 85, Kolkata
Having lived on the other side of the world for almost 12 years now, one would think not seeing my mother for long stretches of time was something I was used to. Turns out, that practice hasn’t made the pandemic-induced separation any easier. I never quite imagined in the beginning, when this virus made headlines, that it would change our connections so dramatically. After I lost my father in 2015, I always made sure I took a detour to Kolkata on my business trips to India. That way I could visit her at least twice a year apart from the annual summer holidays. But last March saw all my travels for the year cancelled, and also meant I wouldn’t get to meet my mother.
But the physical distance meant that I learnt to focus on the bond I have with her. If earlier I’d call her twice a day, now I call her four times and it’s not just a check-in to see if things are fine. We’ve transitioned to video calls where I take her on a walk around the house, show her the flowers and vegetables growing in our garden, and keep her perched on the shelf when we’re cooking a meal to give her a sense that we’re all together in the same space. Of course, there are the pitfalls of a video call. When she spots a beard or if my hair is too long, she’ll give me an earful.
I’ve never felt guilty about staying far away from family mainly because my mother instilled that confidence in me to move out to a new life in a new country without worrying about leaving ageing parents behind. But navigating these uncertain times have been complicated for her too. For the first time in all these years I’ve heard her voicing her fears and nervousness of not getting to see me.
While there’s always that extended family and house help you’re grateful to for providing aid and care, the dilemma of not knowing when I can physically be with Ma again can be disempowering. For instance, when my mother fell critically ill at the start of India’s second surge and I couldn’t board the flight to Kolkata due to paperwork, I had to make sure that I didn’t pass my worries and frustrations onto her and do whatever I could from a distance.
We have found ways to keep close. And so, I’ll call my mother to ask for her famous recipe of fish moilee or ask for her advice about my daughter’s career plans, while she’ll do her usual job of keeping an eye on whether
my hair is messy or my shirt collar crumpled. That way I know she’s doing fine and that we’re still making memories together.
— As told to Mohua Das
Rediscovering my mom in the lockdown
Kaamana Sahu | 20, Mumbai
Mom Manisha | 50, stays with her
As an introverted kid, my mother was indeed that friend that I could always turn to. To describe the sense of ease I’ve had with her, let me tell you about the time that I was around 14 and got bullied by a group of friends in school. My mental health took a hit and that was a time when it was taboo to talk of things like anxiety but my mom helped me navigate that situation. I could talk to her about the smallest or the most inconsequential things as I grew up. It was only after I started going to college, a few years before the pandemic, that we started getting a bit distant. Not spending too much time with my family, especially my mother, had been making me feel guilty so in a way the pandemic brought its share of good. It allowed me to connect with my mother all over again. And lately, while being locked down at home, I believe my mother has also been able to confide in me — about incidents at work, things that upset her or things that make her happy — that was a really crucial step in our relationship.
Of course, the transition didn’t happen immediately or naturally. As a student of architecture, I was overloaded with work and wouldn’t spend more than an hour or two with family although we were all in the same house. Things started changing as I started learning how to ration my time. Most times I would just sit around my mum while she worked. Later in the evenings we’d sit in the verandah for two or three hours playing cards or gossiping while my Dad cooked. We consciously avoided our phones and laptops and would recollect stories from childhood, and play some old music. I also introduced her to Disney movies, which she rather enjoyed.
There were times that I did feel suffocated and needed my own me-time so I’d sit in my room and watch movies. And this probably kept my mom sane, too. I don’t think she would want to be suffocated by her kids 24/7 either. She’s a working woman and was also used to being away from us for a large part of the day before the pandemic. So that was one worry I had, too. Would she get tired of spending time with me? Would I get too unbearable? But the fact that both of us respected that need to spend time with our own selves helped.
Children tend to believe that their parents are extremely strong and
that nothing could be wrong with them but now when I see my mother juggling home and work every day, I realise she’s just another person who needs someone to talk to. And while I know she’s strong, she’s vulnerable too.
— As told to Mohua Das
Saying farewell to Aai without even a last hug
Lab technician | Mumbai
Mom Hemlata Naik
Please don’t reveal my name. I am a lab technician at the hospital where my mother succumbed to Covid on June 28, 2020. So, people there know me and I don’t want to draw attention. But I do want to tell the story of my ‘Aai’. Just saying the Marathi word for mother makes me emotional. My world came crashing down the day I lost my Aai, my teacher, my best friend.
Hemlata Ashok Naik was born before Independence on November 9 in 1944, into a joint family in a village in the interior of Virar. Not only was she very fond of Marathi music and always humming songs while working but also athletic (she was kabaddi captain of her school team and also a shot-put champion). I inherited her love of sports and music.
Farming being the only occupation then, she worked very hard to tend to her younger siblings and care for her sick grandmother along with performing other innumerable chores. The hardships continued even after her marriage at age 27 into another joint family of 12 members. She never ever visited any place for a holiday till the age of 50. Her life revolved only around her three children: my elder brother, me and a younger sister. Aai was always there for us in our achievements and our problems. She was my punching bag even after my marriage. I shared everything with her and relied on her advice.
Since we knew her life had been hard, we wanted to give her a good life. My brother passed engineering and got a job in the US, which is how we could buy her a house in Andheri with a small garden as she loved gardening.
As a paramedic, I looked after her medical needs. She got arthritis at the age of 45. The attack was so bad that I thought she was going to die but slowly, through regular yoga and medication, she bounced back and I had resolved never to allow her to fall sick again. And then Covid struck.
Since I was an essential worker, I was allowed to step out and hand all the necessities to her at the colony gate but I could not meet her as she was on immune suppressors and I was petrified of being an asymptomatic carrier. All was good until June 2020. In the first week of June last year, my aunt, who was staying with them and who would go once a week out to get veggies, contracted Covid. Soon, my mother got infected and had to be hospitalised in the same place where I work. It was a herculean task getting a bed for her but finally we managed to get one. I was not allowed to meet her. This made things difficult. My mother, who would listen to each and everything that I would say, just refused to listen to me this time. She was having Covid-related diarrhea. Despite my telling her to call the ayahbai, she went alone to the toilet, had a fall and fractured her femur. There was internal blood loss and she was shifted to ICU.
I was working in the lab and talking to her on video call, putting on a brave face, urging her to eat and be positive. But things were not going our way. She had to be put on oxygen. “Don’t go. Stay in the lab,” she would tell me on video call. So, sometimes, even at home, I would put on my lab coat on video call.
Finally, she had to be put on the ventilator. I went to see her in a PPE kit. She was gasping for breath. I just wanted to hug her tightly to assure her that all was okay but I was not allowed to go very near. It was the worst moment of my life. After that, she deteriorated consistently. I think I prayed to all the gods in the world to bring my mom back but I lost her that night at 2.30am.
I remember whenever I would hold her hand to cross the road or climb the stairs, she would refuse and always say: “Mee mhatari nahi, tarun ahe” (I am not old. I am young). She was and always will be young.
— As told to Sharmila Ganesan Ram
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