When The Going Gets Tough

"The fault lies in your genes," said the Doctor. "When educated people marry their own cousins.."so saying the doctor shook his head. She looked down at her cherubic little son, who lay fast asleep in her arms. Who would look at him and even know that he would grow up to be a spastic child. Him and his older brother. Her husband standing beside her turned his face away. He had been waiting to hear the verdict from the doctor. Swinging on his heel, he left the room.

Her mother in law, her mothers' sister was someone she had never got along with. To put it mildly. Strongly put, both the women had an inherent dislike for each other. But to honor her dying sister's last wish, she had arranged her son's marriage with her niece.  That was how it was in the old days, girls gave in to family pressures and married men chosen for them by their parents.

Something vital had changed between  them. He was so traumatised at the sight of his two sons that he shifted to another part of the house. The first he had accepted in the hope that the second would be normal.  Someone he would be proud to show off as his son. Someone with whom he would have a great father son relationship. Deep within him, he was ashamed. How could this drooling, lifeless looking infant have been born of his sperm. His aversion only grew as the children grew. The wife he had adored once, now became the object of his frustrations. When he had to face his family, he did so with great reluctance, and usually stormed out within a few minutes of being with them.

She wiped her childrens' tears, as well as her own in the privacy of her quarters. She also devoted her entire being to their welfare.

Her aunt had as expected, sided with her beloved son, the only feelings she had towards them, a cold detachment, a bitterness. She had found one more reason to blame her daughter in law for all the unhappiness in their home. But all that was to change.

As she lay half asleep that morning, there was a thud outside her door. Heart in mouth, she opened the door, to find her elder grandson sprawled across her door. Rushing to help him up, lump in her throat, she hurried to his mothers room. She lay inert on her bed, her agitated sons trying to raise her. The tableux bringing a lump to her throat she screamed for her son.

The hospitalisation lasted for a week, her cardiac status restored with the help of stents, all she could think about were her kids.

No one from her home came to visit her, which only increased her anxiety levels. Her brother assured her they were in good hands, and kept asking for her to return.

Return she did. As the doors opened, an alien sight met her eyes. Eyes wide, bewildered, she saw her husband sitting at the dining table, coaxing a spoon into her younger sons' mouth. The elder sat in his chair, his daadi, fussing over his hair. Her eyes, filled with tears met his. His arm crept slowly around his son, the child content to snuggle against him.

She learnt later, that her sons' herculean efforts in alerting his daadi when she suffered the attack, probably saved her life. On entering their room, after their mother had been hospitalised, the father had found them, huddled together, hugging each other and crying inconsolably. The moment smote him, as he felt a deep sense of shame at his callousness towards them. Going towards them, he felt them shrink away from him, as if afraid.

Like spring entering a garden, long frozen with snow, his heart melted at the sight. Tears falling from his eyes, he bent on both knees and engulfed them in a hug.