Wake up this morning to the sound of two grown-up men
serenading their mother. Rush to figure out where this is coming from, and
realize it is DD National on TV, which is playing Bollywood numbers dedicated
to “ma” on Mother’s Day.
The ongoing number talks about how pointless it is to look
for God, since ‘he’ (she?) is unlikely to look very different from ‘ma’. Two
decidedly middle-aged sons, in a boat, with their mother…telling her she is ‘God’.
(At this point, special
effects play to indicate a dream sequence.) I’m the woman in the boat, with
two grown-up sons telling me I’m God. I smile. For a tiny second, I feel
powerful, and then I gnash my teeth, and scream: “You scoundrels! You think I
enjoy being this blasted wish-fulfillment tree that you guys have turned me
into, all your miserable lives? Now, get off my back, for heaven’s sake, and
let me live the rest of my life as a human being.”
(Special effects) –
I’m back on my couch…until the next song starts – this time, it’s an adolescent
boy singing to his mother, while his sister hovers in the background,
maintaining a diplomatic silence.
“How sweet you are, how good you are, how lovable you are…’
and on and on. Even as an ego-boost, that’s pretty lame. If you’re a mother,
there’s only one question these words can trigger: “Cut out the BS…what do you
want?”
The next number knocks me over completely. It has a little
girl standing on a stage and singing, “I’ve seen mother, but I haven’t seen mother’s
love.”
“How sad for you missy! Maybe you didn’t look in the right
place. Or perhaps, like the eight-armed mother in the instant breakfast ad, the
poor hapless woman is just too busy running around all day to let all the ‘love’
hang out.
By now, I’ve had enough. So, I turn off the TV, and pick up
the newspaper. Only to be greeted by Mother’s Day ads – get her this, get her
that – the front page, the page after that, and the one after that. They’re all
just teeming with ads – about what sons and daughters should be buying for their
mothers. I smile. This is a world I’m comfortable in. No airy-fairy
mother-worship here…if you want to be all theatrical on one hand-picked day of
the year, and declare your love for your mother, get her STUFF… a little
materialism never hurts anybody, does it? Especially, mothers….!!!
