This is no piece of fiction. So if you came looking for a spicy story, you arrived at the wrong place. However, the story I am about to narrate is no less inspiring, even interesting and perhaps even as enthralling as a bestselling novel.
I have my mother who at one point of time stayed submerged in chronic depression. With a child on one hand and no means to support on the other, she found herself at a crossroad where all roads led to death. But she fought back every strand of depression, she battled the financial crisis simply by seeking pleasure out of her baby’s smiling face, she weathered the black storm which an unhappy marital life brought, she stayed hungry to feed her child and stayed awake to see him sleep.
At a time when her most convenient option was to surrender to a rope or a bottle of poison, she withstood the vagaries of time and fate hanging on to life with the mere hope that her child would one day grow up and lead a happy life.
She is not a hero because she chose to live; she is a hero because she chose not to die.
And there is her sister (my Masi) who raised her two daughters at a house where she was deprived of running water and electric connection after being deserted by her husband. Her heart must have broken into thousand pieces for all I know but she never let the smile fade out of her face. She raised her daughters and made them proud CAs. She treated me like her son and bought me my first bicycle and my first video game. She perhaps led the most miserable life a wife could lead but it is astonishing how that radiant smile on her face never dissipated.
She is not a hero because she chose to smile; she is a hero because she chose not to cry.
And these two sisters (now pushing towards the twilight of their lives) are the unsung heroes (Mardaanis) of my family, of my life, of my saga. I owe my everything to them.