Of mothers, sarees and their grief

Mothers are often presented as the epitome of love in movies. The struggles, sacrifices and the quiet tiredness they carry are praised, even placed on a pedestal. But we rarely talk about their grief, the grief of unlived lives. Have you ever thought about the lives of these mothers before marriage and motherhood? Before all the giving began?

So often, clad in their sarees, mothers cook and smile, clean and laugh. But is that all they ever wanted? Do they carry the weight of the shadows of their unlived lives? Many do, though they may never say it aloud. And they leave it behind for the happiness of the ones they love. I often feel that when they wipe sweat from their brows with the edge of their sarees, they catch the glimpse of their hidden grief. The loneliness and the neglect they receive, they tuck it away, fold it into the pleats of their sarees and smile again. Some may have once wanted to be doctors, teachers, dancers, writers, travellers. And even in their happiest moments, they sometimes remember the rooms they were never invited into.

I often feel that the excitement women  feel when receiving or wearing a new saree reflects the brief escape it ofters. When they get ready and wrap themselves in fresh fabric free of sweat and weariness, they feel like someone else. Maybe someone they once imagined becoming. Even if it’s for half an hour, they love the charade because it would have been the extended version of her unlived life. Then they return, drape on the older sarees, and continue carrying the quiet grief. 

Let’s not make them carry the weight of their grief alone. It is not too late to offer them space to heal, to dream again, and to live the lives they once desired. Let them live, in colourful sarees, devoid of kitchen sweats and curry stains.