Two Different Faces

As I am about to pen the two different faces, I can clearly visualize them in my mind. Their faces remained very prominent in my heart. These faces belong to two mothers - two very different mothers from different cultures, societies and times. But both faces portray a common entity - the image of a mother. They portray two different worlds, two different extremities. And I respect them with all my heart and soul.

The first face is that of a young mother in her late 20s. This was way back in the 1980s. She is my mother. I was maybe around 7 or 8 at that time. We two were on a short trip to my maternal uncle's place. We stayed there for just two days and with a heavy heart I had to accept my mother's decision to return home. Heavy heart because I always liked the idea of visiting my cousins there (they are my favorite cousins after all) and staying with them as long as possible. Any stay there was never enough for us to be done playing with. So my cousins and I would start making plans (basically excuses) for me to be able to stay over longer than my parents had planned. So this trip was also no different for us in terms of planning for my overstay. But my mother was an adamant lady. Just after two days of stay she decided to return, meaning I have to leave my cousins and come back home. Our excuses didn't work on her. Usually, those tricks work perfectly well with my father! Anyway my mother being the mother she is, we had to return home on a Monday morning from my uncle's place. The night before our return trip, we were informed through radio that there will be a bandh next day. In my state (Assam), bandh is a familiar culture. Any local group or organizations in Assam as well as in different regions of India can call for a bandh to be observed a holiday in protest in order to pressurize the Government or the authorities concerned over the demands of the demonstrators. Basically, a bandh is a way of demonstrating protest on any issue and it affects social, economic and daily life. In short, a bandh means a holiday with no vehicles, public or private, in sight on the road. At times, it even becomes a bit scarier with burnt tyres or even cars and buses on roads. It paralyzes normal life.

So on the night before the bandh announcement, my mother was advised not to travel that morning by her brother and my maternal uncle which she obviously refused. She had to attend something on that day I guess. Something urgent as my father had mentioned her before. I have no idea what it was on that day but we decided to travel on the day of bandh. My uncle dropped us at the bus stand. As expected, there was no bus around. The small bus stand was deserted. My uncle was very sure that we would go back to his house as there was no bus to take us home. But his sister is never going to believe that, so he left us with the assured thought that we would be back soon. We indeed waited for a while looking at the deserted bus stand and the road. No shop was open, no vehicle was on the move. I was happy that we would go back to my uncle's house soon since we cannot go back home. After waiting patiently for a while, a huge truck came into sight on the highway. At least it looked huge to the tiny me at that time. Eventually, it reached us when my mother suddenly began to wave at the truck driver to stop the truck. And that gigantic thingy stopped right next to us! One Sardarji was behind the wheel. He too looked colossal to me. Mother had a word with Sardarji for a brief while and then his handyman gave a hand to mother to lift me up followed by her. The truck was indeed a huge entity which took me in. We sat comfortably in the truck. Inside the truck had a comfy vibe of what I would call a home. The interiors looked really great. We had a wonderful trip back home. Sardarji brought us home safe and sound. This was the first time in my life that I boarded a truck and traveled nearly 5 hours to reach home. Later, I realized it was the first truck trip for my mother as well. But the main learning was the bravery of a young 20-something woman who dared to travel on a day of bandh. She actually showed her protest against bandh that she opposes this system which paralyzes normal life. And that was not the only time she stood up fearlessly against such entities. I clearly recall a time when a few young goons, claiming to be part of a terrorist group, came to our house and how my mother responded to them fearlessly. The point is this mother is an epitome of kindness, grace and fearlessness who does not hesitate to stand alone against the big world if truth needs a company.

The other face is that of a mother in her mid 50s. This was in the beginning of the millennium when I moved to the capital city of my home country. In one of my worst nightmares coming into reality, I have witnessed the extremities of horror. Right in front of my eyes in the wee hours of a cold night, a young son of 20-something was beating up his 50-something mother ruthlessly with a piece of brick. The mother was screaming in pain. She was begging her own son for mercy. The face of the son looked blatant. He was on a beating spree. He dropped the brick and found a piece of rod now marching to the crawling mother. Then there was the father who was already injured by the son. The mother was helping the father to flee from the son's terror which was the main reason of the son to beat her up. The whole incident happened right in front of my disbelieving eyes. A few onlookers were there trying to stop but I guess it was not possible for them to even believe what they were witnessing. Before they could catch him, the son fled and disappeared in to the darkness. I don't want to describe more of that horror as it still sends endless and cold shivers down the spine. That incident stands to me as the face of extremity of hatred till time. That mother was the face of tolerance and helplessness at the hands of her own son, her own creation. I am still haunted by that cold night.

In today's time when people talk, write and spread words of bravery and, equally, hatred at the drop of a breath everywhere, I would like to pause for a moment, recall those two faces, and think for a second: which face do they portray or reflect? Is there any of those faces at all, or there is a new face? Endless and easy access to information has empowered us to enhance our human entity. But are we really empowered? Is it being achieved at the expense of basic moral values, sincerity of emotions, common sense, logic, reasoning, critical thinking, and above all, the basic sense of humanity? I think of those two faces. I wish and am determined to adopt the first one in order to deal with the horror of the second. But I never want to forget any of these faces. They co-exist even now. And they will in the times to come. So, every time I witness or come across any horror of humane ill-doings, I will stand up and take the mask of the first face to fight against the battle of the second. I will and always do.