The grandmother is living her last days alone, in the village that is all the she has ever known. Where I spent my childhood, spent days playing cricket with village boys who would have a bowling run up bare feet no matter if we were playing on cement, on road or on the recently harvested wheat fields. My grandmother is a strong lady. Married at 16, widowed at 35, left with no one to help around, grandmother ate one meal a day to get her son and her daughter get an education. Father owes what he is to her mother. I wish she could have just been only an epitome of a bleeding inspiration.
Father married to his choice of girl. Grandmother started believing that this girl was changing his son and getting him far from her. Two things. Neither father was changing things for his wife, neither her wife was trying to get him far from his mother. Years from then have seen hammer of words thrown at each other as if it was an anvil. A day came when my mother has had enough for herself. She said that she and grandmother couldn’t live in the same house anymore. Father took a hard decision to leave grandmother in the village, still taking care of her with money and things, and mother, father, and us two brothers moved to a place one hour from that small village.
Mother in yet years to come found that this was not the man she had intended to marry. That he lied to her about visits to sites of constructions as a part of his job on the pretext to be able to drive a couple of pegs once in a while, as he love marginally drinking. Mother, doesn’t change, doesn’t adapt. She just keeps fightings for the things she absolutely has ever wanted. It almost feels like she doesn’t want to give up on herself by doing so, since she has been denied science or economics stream to choose after high school by his drunken illogical patriarchial father. She has been denied mere an extra dress or pair of shoes for 12 years, denied to live peacefully. Not all wars are so clear as to find the intention behind their inception.
See the conundrum here, father will always drink, despite heart attack, because his doctor said it was okay to have some once in a while. My mother will never be okay with it for the things she has seen drunk men doing in his family, including a one time molestation by a really close relative. A discussion between this would always end up mother justifying why it is that she hates people drinking alcohol and the things she has borne. Father would stand up for his argument that he neither has never will be so drunk as to loose his senses and going crazy. Not a single side ready to adjust. Both right in their arguments, there is no false or wrong argument at stand. But what to do when past clings so much that it becomes impossible to unlearn to learn anew.
Things kept going off between mother and father. Both had had then extra marital relationships, and both have never let it not bother themselves. Another one, one with a not really nice guy that seemed to either have brainwashed mother, or allegedly having genuinely fallen in love. Or was it years of mother and father not really being there for each other like happy family husband and wife are, clinging to their own demands that could never really be satisfied by the other that triggered this happenstance. I don’t really know, I don’t really care. They separated.
These three people have raised us brothers well, but I don’t have those happy memories anymore, neither in videos, because we didn’t have a video camera, nor with photographs they seemed lost in so many moving that we have had to do in different houses and different places. Memories are blur after all this, almost drunk. So many lies, so many versions of truth from three separate people, neither really wrong. Just suffering from the disease of not being able to adjust, because of that past that has clung like a leech in their minds seemingly and hopefully not, forever.
I’ve tried whatever I could, but it seems to me that my not being able to earn much yet has a direct effect on their ability to listen to me. I don’t know if that’s the way it is. I’ve tried my best nonetheless. Now I just want to run away. But the happy memories keep me from doing that.
I’m lost and I do not know what to do.