There is something very special about this story. I is, I guess, the sharing
of something quite intimate ....between a mother and son. Inspiring, and
thanks for posting it.
From: "Vikram D vg...@yahoo.co.uk [gay_bombay]"
<gay_bombay@yahoogroups.com>
To: gay_bombay@yahoogroups.com
Sent: Wednesday, 12 November 2014, 18:21
Subject: g_b from Indian Express: A letter from a mother to her son
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In advance of Children's Day on November 14th, the Indian Express' Sunday
supplement published a collection of letters from parents to their children.
This is a particularly moving one from a mother to her queer son. (Please
consider posting comments about it. All too often we leave online commenting to
homophobic trolls) :
Children’s Day: A letter from a mother to her son
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| Children’s Day: A letter from a mother to her sonEvery day, my day begins at
six with a cup of tea that I make for myself. Whenever you are in town, I go
back to stare at your face. |
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| View on indianexpress.com | Preview by Yahoo |
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>From a mother to her son
‘I know you are afraid of nothing now’
Dear Babu,
Every day, my day begins at six with a cup of tea that I make for myself.
Whenever you are in town, I go back to stare at your face. You sleep
peacefully, with your lips parted and eyes half open. For as long as I can
remember, this is how you have slept. That’s the only time I see you absolutely
peaceful. When you wake up at 11, frantically asking for your coffee, and rush
to get ready for lunch with your “BFFS”, my day begins.
That day, my day began at 5.55 am. For the first time, you woke me up with a
cup of tea. I asked, “Are you leaving early today?” “No. I’ll be with you
today.”
We cleaned up your room together. You made me lunch. Some vegetables and meat
tossed in a pan, brown bread and old port wine from my closet. At 4 pm, you
said, “Ma, let’s go out.” I was happy.
Like always, you picked out a sari for me. We went to Flury’s. We ordered a
club sandwich and a pie. I saw you fidgeting.
I asked you, “What’s the matter?”
“I want to tell you something. I know you know, though.”
“What do I know?”
“You remember that film, Ma?”
I knew. I remembered. I had denied it.
Two years ago, you wrote and made a film as a part of your cinematography
course. It was a rather intense film about a young man and his terminally ill
mother. When we watched it, I had cried. I didn’t think of anything else back
then. Or did I?
If I didn’t, why did I feel you needed to tell me everything about your life
since then? Why do I check all the time to make sure you get all my assets
after me? Why do I feel the need of a guardian for you, after me?
I’m not very old. Forty-five is definitely not an age to feel threatened. Then
why this craving for your glimpse, every day?
“Well, I made that film for you. I thought you would understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I’m … I’m a … I do not like girls … not in a girlfriend-boyfriend way…”
You need not have said anything else. I couldn’t hear anything else. No more
living in denial. In fear. It’s out there. I should feel free.
The sandwich arrived. Like always, I broke off a piece and put it in your
mouth. You had tears in your eyes. We didn’t speak that day.
The next day, I called your best friend in Bangalore. You didn’t know that, did
you? I said, “You knew something more about him than me. But the truth is, I
did know. Always.” He said, “Aunty, it’s as simple as the fact that I prefer
rice for lunch and he prefers bread.”
I knew you chose your life correctly, your career, your friends, your clothes,
your hairstyle, even the kohl you apply on your eyes. I also knew that the one
thing that you didn’t choose, but were born as, is also correct. It’s like I
get to see you as you are, every day.
Strangely, when you leave for college now, I miss you and fear for you a little
less. I know you are afraid of nothing now. “So, you are going to find someone
for yourself, right?”
“Well, you can save me all the work and find someone for me.”
Love,
Ma
Sanchita Sarkar is a Kolkata-based homemaker and her son Aritra is a student of
cinematography at the Film and Television Institute of India
