Empowered Finally

That day was her worst but it was also the day she got empowered. It was ironic but one that many others in her situation might have understood. As her daughter, I could just marvel at how things were unfolding before my eyes.

But then I had the advantage of hindsight. Even on that sad day, I knew that things were going to be different. The next day, the start of a different era was evident but I felt that it was tragic that a woman in India could only be truly empowered in such unfortunate circumstances.

My father was a good man and he would have even qualified as a great husband as the benchmark is set so low. In India, if a husband just provides financially for his wife and children, does not beat her, does not drink, gamble or womanise it will be enough for him to earn the title of a good husband. If like my dad he didn't shout, raise his voice or swear, he would definitely be considered a great husband and a good man. Then to top all this, my father was a very educated man, a PhD in engineering no less. So he was a great man and a great husband as well.

Most men in my country and maybe fifty percent of the male population of the world would consider that an excellent achievement. And he was a great dad too. He treated both his son and his daughters almost equally, encouraged his daughters to get a good education and to even get good jobs. He was all in support of women’s emancipation. He also controlled the purse strings and made all the financial decisions.

But let’s get back to that fateful day, when dad died in the hospital after just one day and a half of hospitalisation and a brief illness.

That should and would qualify as the worst day of my mom’s life, as it should for any woman who becomes a widow. In India, widows are especially looked down on and it often leaves recent widows almost totally bereft of any sanity. But mom was never like that. She was devastated but not incoherent. It was she who decided which suit my father would wear on his final journey. The shoes which he wore and also the shirt and tie he wore when he made his final journey to the graveyard were chosen by mom.

She told me to get for him the best coffin available. We, children decided that the funeral would be conducted on the same day because it was a Sunday and a good day for a funeral. So despite knowing that most of our relatives will not be able to make it time for the funeral, we, his children decided that papa would be buried on the same day. That left us hardly any time to prepare.

I was the one making all the preparations. To say, it was traumatic, would be an understatement but I have always taken charge of things in my family and this was no different.

I never expected my mom to faint or to be hysterical. She remained true to herself. She cried but with dignity, she walked to the grave with composure and she buried her husband of 43 years with silent grief.

After the funeral we all returned back to the house, each one quiet with one’s own thoughts. The next morning, mom’s brothers and sisters would be arriving and we expected fireworks. It was a given that they would shout at us for burying our father without waiting for them.

In the morning after the funeral, mother went about her own business. She started with clearing dad’s cupboard. The same cupboard that dad had not allowed his children and even his wife to mess around with. He disliked anyone opening his cupboard even to take a pair of pliers. An engineer, dad had all kinds of instruments which he kept in his cupboard along with other nick knacks. It was like a treasure which we children just wanted to explore.

Mother started sorting out papa’s belongings, his clothes, books, dairies, bank account books, instruments and even his .22 caliber rifle. Oh yes, he was the proud owner of a .22 rifle, though it could only kill a bird and maybe a snake but it was a rifle.

First she took out his clothes and put them out on the bed. She asked her younger brother, who is not so well off, to pick up any pants and shirts he might want to for himself. If you knew the difference between the sizes of my father and my maternal uncle, this offer in itself was nothing short of being hilarious.

My father was fat and my uncle thin and tall. So obviously dad’s pants would be loose on the waist and hips and short in length for my uncle. But he measured them and came to the conclusion that if he opened the hems and had them altered they would do nicely. There were after all many new shirts and pants.

After sorting out the pants, he had a go at the shirts while my mom watched the whole process in satisfaction. Here she was giving away dad’s clothes and no one could tell her what she could or couldn't do. I think she must have realised that she was finally incharge then. 

However it didn't strike me as unusual at that time.

Rummaging further into my dad’s cupboard, mom came across various things, torch, tools, magnifying glasses, battery tester and other instruments. Dad was after all an engineer. He had all kinds of instruments. One of his price possessions was an electric drill which he had acquired quite late in life, infact after his retirement.

The electric drill went to my brother’s technical department where it could be put to good use. The blood pressure measuring instrument along with the stethoscope was given to my elder maternal uncle who was a doctor in the village.

Mom, I noticed was having a field day giving away dad’s things with such haste. Things which a day ago, we wouldn’t have dared to touch. Me and my siblings often told our children that grandpa’s cupboard was out of bounds. Dad’s will stated that all that he owned was to be given to mom. That ofcourse was great, since she anyway should be the inheritor of his property.

A few days after the funeral,l both I and my mother went about the business of transferring the house and the car to her name. I learnt that this can be a lengthy process. One needs to obtain a death certificate from the municipal corporation, then this document is submitted to all concerned government authorities along with the will and a consent letter from all his four children to get any property transferred to my mom’s name.

We finally got it done, the house transferred to my mom’s name and the car also. Also the pension office was informed of my dad’s demise. Mom went about all the formalities with dignity and mostly kept her self control. Not that she was given to any hysterics. Infact, she just hates public show of emotion so none of us were expecting mom to get all hysterical and she didn’t.

However, what I did wonder about was the way she went about donating all my dad’s belongings. Just a few months before she had cleared her cupboard in the bedroom she shared with dad and put all her clothes in the other bedroom. She emptied her cupboard over some dispute with dad and gave him all the cupboards in their bedroom. Dad happily took possession over both the cupboards though he did wonder at mom’s fit over it.

I remember mom saying, “After 43 years I don’t even have right to a single cupboard. I might as well take my things to the other room. You can have all the cupboards here.”

Also she added for good measure, “In any case, no one is interested in your instruments and all those old things you keep in there.”

That was that, but now she was emptying the cupboard with such vengeance I observed. None of us wanted dad’s rifle because it a lot of responsibility. If you own a rifle, you also need a license. Then you need to keep the police informed in the area. Every time there is a riot or unrest in the city you are required to deposit the rifle at the nearest police station. Also when ever you are travelling, you are required to again deposit the rifle in a police station or carry it with yourself.

All four of us, including my brother thought that it was more pain than gain to inherit the gun so we asked mom to give it to my uncle, dad’s younger brother. Now since my uncle already owned one rifle, he couldn’t be the owner of another rifle also according to rules in India. So we decided that his son, my cousin could have the rifle. That decided, my cousin obtained a license so he could take the rifle. That is how, my dad’s priced possession, the .22 rifle went to my cousin.

As the days went by, I observed that mom was giving away things and many were benefitting from her generosity also.

Sitting alone, remembering my dad, I thought of the futility of accumulating so many things in a lifetime when all is lost on one’s death. Dad guarded his possessions and didn’t let anyone touch them. Now it was being given away with hardly a thought. Or maybe with some thought but I doubt if dad would have approved of this giving away of his possessions in such haste.

Why a human being is so interested in accumulating stuff in his or her lifetime, I wondered. Life was a journey but most of us lived it as if we were here to stay for a long time.

I missed dad. He was a great father. He almost treated us girls as equally as he treated his only son, my younger brother. If anything he was rather sterner with him than us. He encouraged us to study and to have careers. I remember when I was a sit-at-home mom after my first child was born. He told me after one year that I should get a job or else I will get into the habit of being a housewife.

Dad said, “If you want to work you will have to go out there and get a job.”

I remember protesting, “My child is only 15 months old. I will get a job but she is so little at present.”

However, he didn’t agree with me. He felt that if one sits out for too long, it becomes difficult to get back into the job market. Maybe he was right.

I also remember that he had such a progressive outlook on most things. Once when I was just in my late teens, I was going out for a Christmas party. I got dressed up in a straight dress that I had stitched by myself. A maroon coloured velvet dress which had a side slit and a low neck.

Since it was Christmas time my maternal uncle, the one who was a village doctor, was visiting us. When he saw me all dressed up in a dress which I suspect he thought was too revealing, he asked, “Are you are wearing this dress for the party?”

I said, “Yes. What is wrong with it?”

Uncle turned towards dad and said, “Look at her jijaji. Look at what Gulli is wearing?”

All in the house called me by my pet name. Dad just looked at the dress and said, “Turn around.”

I did. He looked at me and smiled. Then he turned to my uncle and said, “What is wrong with the dress. It is perfectly fine.”

I smiled proudly and said, “I stitched it myself.”

Uncle just looked amazed. I suspect he thought that dad was too lenient with his girls. I thought he must have wondered how come jijaji finds the dress okay, it was too revealing. But he kept quiet and I sauntered out of the house in triumph.

Now, days after his death, all those memories came flooding back. I think I didn’t have the time to mourn his death on the day of he died as the funeral was held on the same day and I was busy with the arrangements. But with things settling down, I finally had time to say good bye to dad.

Mom has a lot of time on her hands after dad’s death. She used her time to just keep on giving away dad’s things almost with zeal. I think she had her own grief to deal with and also anger at dad. Also with so many relatives visiting due to dad’s death, mom had no work and lots of time to reflect about her life. Dad and mom did have their fights and most times she didn’t win them. But their fights were all very civilised, no raising of voices or calling of names. Mom mostly maintained silence to show anger. So for outsiders they were the perfect pair, the best married couple.

But mom had her issues. She didn’t want to always ask dad for money. She had too much pride. That is why she ensured that all her daughters worked and have an income of their own. What my dad did once hurt her the most, I know that now. It was when dad refused to give her a pocket money of just Rs. 50 per month saying there was no money. It must have been 1995 or 1996 and dad had already retired years ago but he did get a good amount as pension. He had retired as a government officer, top grade after all. But he still said he could not give mom Rs. 50 per month as pocket money.

I remember fighting with my dad over this. I just couldn’t understand his logic. It hurt my mom a lot. It has remained with her since, even nine years after his death. Infact, I think this is the single most remembered incident of her 43 years of marriage. Some hurts take time to heal.

That is why when I saw her giving away dad’s stuff with such haste and no regret; I felt that maybe she was somehow getting even. Now she could do what she wanted, how she wanted. She finally had her way.

At last, the whole cupboard was empty. Mom stood there with her hands resting on the empty shelves. As I watched her with her hands cleaning the now empty cupboard, I thought it was ironic that this was the most difficult time in her life. She has just become a widow. She always had some one to take care of her and make decisions for her. First it was her dad and then my father. But this was also the time in her life when she was finally empowered.

At this junction of her life, mom was a widow but she was also the owner of two houses, a car and land. Mistress of all she surveyed. Finally so late in life, at 65, she has truly become emancipated. But the price was huge and the victory too little and too late.