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.
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