Remembering Thresamma

The first time I heard about Thresamma was from Sanju's well-wisher 'V'

"He comes from a 'different' family. And, it is important for you to know since he is discussing marriage plans. You don't know anything about him, Saji. Ask him about his mother"

V had the same conversation with Sanju since he thought that keeping me in the dark was wrong. So, he was not shocked when I asked him if he was hiding anything about his family.

"My mother had a mental disorder"

"Oh, She had in the past? You said that she cooks very well"

"That's my step-mother"

"Okay"

Divorces or remarriages are not common in South India. I was intrigued. I thought that it must be interesting to have two mothers. Before I could satiate my curiosity, the conversation took a sinister turn.

"I had a brother"

"You had?"

"And, my mother killed him"

I didn't know how to respond to that. V was right. It turned out that I knew absolutely nothing about Sanju. He had presented an ideal family situation till then. I tried to understand the circumstances better.

"When was she diagnosed with mental illness?"

"My father said that she had issues when he married her"

"Are you saying that your father left two children in the care of a woman with mental issues and went to a Gulf country to work. And, he expected her to work as well. That doesn't sound logical."

 It was more like a case of 'hindsight is 20/20'

Sanju was surprised that I didn't judge his mother. He was used to hearing about her as some kind of villainess.

"My mother's name is not there in any of my certificates. We changed it. She doesn't exist"

"Okay. Your story sounds likes a movie"

"Do you want to write about her? You can"

"A book? You don't read unless it is to write an exam. Would you be able to read it?"

"I might not read it"

"Okay"

This conversation happened around 14 years back. I was surprised that he wanted the world to know his secret. Perhaps, talking about it wasn't so horrible as he once believed. After procrastinating for years, I asked him yesterday if he would be okay if I write a short blog post instead. I am not ready to write a book on this. Too intense a subject to wade through.

Kerala, also called God's own country was built by the blood and tears of people like Thresamma. They were the first generation of nurses who went alone to the gulf countries in search of work and came back with a windfall of gold and cash. That changed the economics of the neighborhood and later Malayalees would be known for their chutzpah in adapting to any situation. They are the quintessential survivors. You will find a Malayalee anywhere, as touted by this very popular meme.

Today, Kerala is known for its 100% literacy rate,  a liberal outlook, and it also happens to be the only Communist ruled state in India.

I was more interested in the circumstances than the crime. Sanju said that his younger brother went missing when Sanju was 9. His mother gave him conflicting stories after that incident - He went to a relative's house, he didn't get back from school, she left him somewhere etc. And, then she started buying Sanju toys. A lot of toys. Perhaps, that was to prove to him that life was going to get better. And, then she confessed to him that she had killed his brother in a moment of rage. She had used a pillow to choke him. He said that he didn't understand much other than the new cricket bat shoved in his hands.

Recently, there was a court judgement that acquitted a woman of killing her child because she was PMSing. People bottle up their emotions in an attempt to show an ideal home to the world. As long as the inciting incident is not newsworthy, nobody sees the cracks or care enough to acknowledge those cracks. Is this as simple as someone flashing a smile at the neighbors while jogging one day and then throwing in the proverbial towel the next?

Thresamma presented an ideal image. She sang in family events. Her family adored her. Her sister-in-laws still talk about her warmth ad grace. What caused that break? When Sanju got in touch with her brother recently, he asked him to pray for her saying that no one saw it coming. No one? Really! Was that true?

Sanju's father  worked in a gulf country, leaving behind his family in India. It was Thresamma who took him with her there after their marriage. She came back to India after her pregnancy. He stayed back and visited them every two years. Sanju spoke about a vacation when Thresamma welcomed her husband with a toothless smile. Not a figurative one! Apparently, she got a dentist to remove all her teeth, perhaps with a plan to use dentures later. But, what she did instead was walk around the house like a senile person with no teeth. She was 36. I told him that it was her cry for help. Every time his father was back to India, she had the same demand : A normal family life with the husband back at home. She worked night shifts as a nurse. She locked the house with the kids inside because there was no one else. Kids, as it's in their nature were resilient. They found a way to make the best of the situation. Sanju, all of 9, could climb through a pipeline and hop on the balcony next door. Thresamma took out her depression on the kids. But, getting beaten up and then enjoying the sweets as some sort of reward became Sanju's idea of a normal childhood.

When I watched the news about a certain Abhirami who killed her kids to elope with her lover, all I could think was why this woman couldn't divorce her husband. And, if divorce was not an option, why not leave the kids safe behind. Why do people believe that they own their kids? Do they also believe that they are punishing themselves when they kill a part of themselves. That's horrendous! Some partners are happily married for decades with no drive to look out because they see their marriage as a sacred covenant - the ideal situation, some settle on a polyamory arrangement, and a sociologist even claims that the key to happiness is having a stable marriage, however unloving and a long term partner who fulfills. I don't understand the term broken homes either. Children shouldn't be held hostage in situations to drag out a marriage. That's not fair on the kids either. There is no social proof that children in alternative situations fare poorly in life. It's the social constructs that pull us back. And, children can pick up hypocrisy.

 If the partners are selfish and myopic, it's the helpless kids who suffer. That's the tragedy of it all. These are kids who have their whole lives in front of them and adults at the fag end of their lives make decisions that jeopardize their potential. Mostly, that has to do with the societal expectations on women.

The Goddess Mother of Asia
Being a decent person is all it takes to care for kids. But, it's not enough for our society that has spent years in carefully building the social constructs. The image of a Goddess mother sets an unreasonable benchmark. Her burden is embellished with glitter and holy oil. So, some women start faking it. The society does not blink an eye when a mother is seen hitting her kids though. They applaud her for being the kind of woman who understands her responsibility to the society in raising well behaved kids. They say that it must have bee more painful for her to hit the kids. She is doing it anyway for the welfare of the society. They see that as a form of sacrifice. That's how it all starts. Perhaps, there are people who can restrain and limit spanking to an occasional punishment for belligerence. But, in the hands of someone who is left alone at home, punishment becomes a senseless weapon. An addiction. It slowly gets worse. And, in a moment of desperation, people like Thresamma succumb to it.

I love the perspective of Khalid Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

We can see something powerful in the soul of a child if we learn to train ourselves to ignore the weakness and confusion of their bodily existence. That brings forth a lot of respect and reverence because we realize that we are at a position to nurture this spark.  It's a privilege. The social notions of possessive love makes the experience of child rearing all about owning - make the child's achievement our own, their failings our own. And, if the child doesn't have proper rights like it's the case in India, the child becomes an extension of the family - to be cherished or denounced. Their property. No one cares. If there is awareness about the right way to love, our eyes will notice people like Thresamma when they put up that brave face. We will be inclined to offer a cup of tea and a conversation to check on them. Thresamma's story was harsh.  Sanju's story was harsher. He found himself in a Hostel for under privileged children in Mumbai for a few years because no one had the time to find a good hostel. His mother was sent to live with her family. His father's brother later convinced his father to get him enrolled on one of the best residential schools in India - Don Bosco, a strict Catholic school. He thrived there although he also picked up a lot of religious guilt there. The next time Sanju would hear about Thresamma was when she committed suicide. It was the year his father remarried. And, his step mother's father told him about it during an argument. Sanju was 15 then.

I see the kind of damage this has inflicted on Sanju. He feels compelled to show a pleasant face to the world. In private, his patience is short, his temper flagrant. It is never about the big things though. Since he grew up in a hostel, he doesn't have any expectations of role plays in a family. He has never interfered in my personal space, typical in a traditional family. I guess, I am like a male friend to him. The temper is unpredictable. I could be asking "Sanju, are you okay" and then that would have started a chain of events which ends with me sitting through a tirade of choicest words and name calling. He would forget about all that later and make a joke. I learned to laugh and forget as well but not before telling him what he did. If I hear 'I take it back', it's absolved. I can laugh at the next joke. So, he does exactly that. He is still learning to reconcile his worlds. I realized later that he doesn't have any friends. He didn't have a single friend from his side who attended the marriage. It was only a handful of relatives. The best man was in jeans and apparently he didn't know him well! If he has to list the names of his friends, he can only name my friends because those are the only ones he meets outside work. I don't know if he feels comfortable around people who are my friends because in some way he feels that they are vetted. Thresamma's pain had devoured his childhood too.

I have found a rhythm. And, he knows what the deal breakers are ;) I am amazed that he didn't turn into a drug addict or worse after all the turmoil he has been through. It must be a huge burden to live with - the survivor's guilt and all other forms of guilt he picked up over the years as a conservative Christian. I don't know what I would have become if I had walked his path. I am grateful about how nice he is to my friends and extended family, how I don't need to worry about any interference with my personal choices. That's a blessing! I hope that as a society, we find a way to take care of people like Thresamma before they take that wrong turn. Before it is too late. Before a child is dead. Before the child left behind forgets what it means to be alive.