1940.

It was noon. Her pains had started from early night. The household, its routines suspended, hovered around her. The month of May, the heat was numbing, but patiently, her anxious husband, kept the vigil outside her room. The prayer beads moved restlessly in his hands, as he prayed that she deliver soon, and give him his prized, long awaited heir. Daughters, he had six, three of whom survived, and who now, at the tender age of ten and eight, tended to their mum. The little one, only two, lay fast asleep on the 'khaat', the swing cum bed, in the outer hall.

For her however, it was only her third child. At the tender age of fifteen, she had been married to her dead sisters' husband. Who better to look after the two motherless children then her younger sister ? Never mind that she was fifteen herself ! Uneducated, an orphan, the decisions in her life were taken by her brothers, and so from playing barefeet, in the sand outside her home, overnight she went to being a wife, part of a big joint family. Her first was a daughter, the third for her husband. The second she was about to deliver.
A subdued scream from inside ( women in those days, kept a cloth handy, which they stuffed in their mouths, to  prevent their screams from reaching the ears of the elders, and others who lived in the joint households.) sent the women scurrying inside, to attend to her. Even in the throes of excruciating pain, she could hear her two sister-in-laws, giggling and talking. "Hah ! exclaimed one. "One more daughter, what's the betting ? She won't ever bear him a son." The midwife, who had been alerted earlier, was sent for. Soon a mild commotion erupted as basins of hot water, sundry clothes and  medical equipment travelled back and forth  from the kitchens. A last scream resounded from within. Then all was quiet. Unable to restrain himself, the patriarch, paced outside the closed doors, as countless men have thru the ages.

The door opened, the midwife emerged. One look at her triumphant face, and he knew finally he had a son. "Alhamdolillah, God is great !" he exclaimed. Soon the baby was handed to him, by one of his sister in laws, and he bore him out proudly, to his brothers who sat outside. Triumphantly, he held the child aloft for all to see and admire. A jug full of milk, was brought forth from the kitchen, and the baby's tiny feet washed in it. After all he was the seventh child and a male. A bonny child, who screamed lustily as he was restored to his weary mother. Though she was young, only twenty now and slightly obese, her eight pound baby, had exhausted even her considerable reserves of energy. Uncaring she slept.

She soon grew to enjoy her confinement. All she was expected to do for forty days was rest and feed the baby, and eat herself. Having a son, she was now on par with the rest of  her sister in laws, and she enjoyed the envy directed at her. After all, her child was the best looking of all the sons in the family, fair, healthy and growing bigger by the day. He seldom was any trouble, specially after the maid brought her the 'goli'(tablet). The one which she powdered and smeared on her breasts so that after a feed, he slept, almost until noon. Her daughters, she hardly paid attention to. Girls played outside the home until six or seven, when they were sent to the madrassas, where religious training was imparted more than the three R's. Once they reached puberty, or class seven, whichever was first, they were married off to suitable boys. The boys were packed off to the city, at twelve, to join their fathers' business. She went on to conceive twice more. But the raw papaya, eaten in the third month, took care of the pregnancies both times. She miscarried and that was that. Her husband, content to have had a son, knew nothing of this, as for six months in the year he lived in the city. Fifteen years older than her, he was a workaholic, who lived in the city with his brothers, while the woman stayed behind in the village with the children. She, too, lived in the village home, and indulged in her twin  passions : prayer and the fetish for cleanliness. Time flew. The son, at twelve was packed off to the city, to continue his education in the city. The first question his mother asked him when he went home for holidays was, "Have you brought your return tickets ? When do your holidays end ?" Followed by, "Be sure to wash your feet before you come in." What was a mother's love ? What you hadn't ever got you never missed, he would tell his wife, who lived with and in, mortal fear of his mother. Now, a prepossessing, dowager, who couldn't abide babies, not even her grandchildren, she ruled over her household and it's occupants with an iron hand. Babies, and their mums were banished to the upper storeys, and allowed to cross her threshold, only after they were ten and above.

1940. The world, as our grandparents knew it.