Today marks 1 year since Muthashi left us, according to the Malayalam calendar; the calendar that was most precious to her. Nobody celebrates my star birthday like she used to. No matter what, she would make it to our family deity sitting at Kovattu: Goddess Bhadrakali, to ask of her to take care of her favorite grandchild. I say this with full confidence, as no cousin of mine would even try making the claim as they know they are bound to fail. Achachan, our grandfather’s favorites were debatable but Muthashi’s was inarguably me. After Achachan left us in 2020, Muthashi’s dementia aggressively sped up. I mean how would it not; the love of her life, the man who made her feel safe in his arms, when her parents nor siblings could ever give her that emotional and physical safety, left her alone with her children and grandchildren, who she didn’t trust enough to take of her because never until then did they gave her due attention she deserved simply because she taught them not to; but instead she asked them to place the love of her life before her and that speaks volumes about the selfless woman she was. 

But something in me doesn’t let me angelize that; something pinches me deep within that makes me want to go back and correct her err, that makes me want to ask her to claim what was always supposed to be equally hers, our love and respect. We denied her of it all, until it was so apparent that we always kept taking from her; taking loads from her, loads and loads of her unconditional love, without ever returning back what she rightfully deserved. And she didn’t ask until it was too late. Everyone constantly competed to be Achachan’s favorite because his love was not easy to gain, we had to earn it. Muthashi’s was, on the contrary, unconditional; unconditionally and eternally present, even with her passing. I wish she was taught what Achachan was taught, to not shrink herself or her needs. I wish someone would let her know that she doesn’t have to give 3 pieces of the apple, she cut for herself cause she was starving, to her children and husband before she felt she could have that remaining one piece. 

But, now what’s the point of me wishing for all of this to miraculously happen in the past, instead of acting on all of this when she gave me the chance to; when she stayed for an extra 5 years with us, alone. It was not until her dementia aggravated in the last 1.5 years, when all her children and grandchildren finally dropped everything in their lives, that they built only with her kindness and care, and came running to give her the care that she now very apparently needed and finally asked for. She needed help to take a bath, to relieve herself, to eat, to move. And it wasn’t her 4 children who gave her all that care, it was the daughter that she never gave birth to, her daughter in law who she always backhandedly bickered with, who she always fought with, for her son’s love, who took care of her like a baby. It wasn’t her grandchildren, it wasn’t the babies she gave birth to, who finally did. And when all her filters finally fell off, her dementia made her drop all her cognitively crafted lies that she loves her children more, that led her to constantly ask for her daughter in law every 10 minutes. Muthashi would forget that she saw her 10 minutes ago and would feel unsafe and run back to her, the mother she deserved, who she found in her daughter, her most loving daughter. When, my mom included, all her other children and grandchildren including I, were caught up in our selfish pursuits, her true daughter dropped everything; everything she needed to do for herself, her husband and her children, all for Muthashi cause god sent this daughter that wasn’t born in her belly to finally give her, the mother that she never had, Not to angelize her sacrifices and make it seem okay that she to do that either. (Only if patriarchy didn’t place them both in such a tough situation) Achachan made sure to leave Muthashi in safe hands when it was time for him to leave; ‘cause he knew had he not left, she would never have asked for what should have always been hers too. 

When her dementia began aggravating, being the youngest grandchild, who arrived last in her memory chronology, I was scared; I was scared of being forgotten first. But to my surprise, the contrary happened. Even when her memories began leaving her and her cognition began fading, she remained concerned for Bhadra. The day Achachan left us too, before she could fell a tear, she was in an angsty search for Bhadra and Vijitha, who she now felt lonely responsible for, as their guardian, her husband, left them. From that day on, until she could talk, she was in a perpetual search for little Bhadra, making sure she’s safe every moment. She would wake up in the middle of the night, every single day and wake her daughter and son up to ask for her child; we were all confused initially, until we understood it was me. Only for us to realize, in reality it wasn’t even me; it was little Bhadra who she was searching for. For once she denied that I am Bhadra and alleged that we are trying to fool her for a random 20 year old, calling her ‘Bhadra’, who seems completely safe and capable now. Who seems so capable now, that she pays zero attention to her Muthashi now that she is fine on her own. But how could it be her? The little Bhadra that she felt responsible for was a scared lonely child. The little Bhadra who wouldn’t have survived if not for her love and mercy. How could we tell her that little Bhadra doesn’t exist anymore and that she can finally rest from taking care and instead be taken care of, when she feels it’s her duty until her last breath to be the one to care; the one to care for her six younger siblings as a teenager; to care for her husband, who never received the love of a mother either, whose role she played instead; her babies who she gave birth to, who needed her mothering the most and to finally mother her grandchildren. Her whole life was spent mothering, not a second spent for herself, guilt free. 

Muthashi was an extraordinary woman, fully capable of taking care of herself but never let her husband know that, for he would have been hurt to be perceived not to be the sole caretaker of the family. So she said, “I’ll take the back seat feeding our babies and caressing their hair; while you drive the car, leading us all together where you decide we must go. I’ll sit behind and direct you as I look after our babies. But the world must never know, I was the one who directed us all. I want you to be the hero to the world as I stand beside you silently, cheering you on.”

Muthashi was an extraordinary woman who didn’t get to lead the extraordinary life she deserved, ‘cause no one bothered letting her know of that. 

Now that you are back with Achachan, feeling safe again, I sit here, in this world that you showed me, with heaps of guilt, heaps of regret with which I cannot do anything now. For that is the prison I set for myself till my last breath, hoping at least that would make a sufficient apology. 

I should have said this earlier, but sorry Muthashi. Sorry. In our next lifetime, I hope you are born my daughter and I can pay you back while you be my tough to handle, naughty, and unapologetic girl. 

I hope you can hear this and know that we all miss you more than ever, today. We all apologize, in unison and we celebrate you, the woman that made all of what we have and are today, possible.

I love you and I miss you, every day.

Love,

Little Bhadra

By Bhadra

evolving. becoming. being.