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The Day Mamaji Came Home: Dr. Madhushree Ghosh (Dr. Ghosh is a senior molecular scientist in San Diego and actively pursues a literary career in South Asian fiction. Her work has been widely published in The Times of India, The Pioneer, Strategies, Glimmer Train among others. She is currently working on her second novel, "Slurping Chai")

Maternal lioness adopts baby antelope

KENYA: October 9, 2002

NAIROBI – It’s nurture over nature for a lioness in Kenya who keeps choosing to dote on baby antelope rather than devour them. Kamuniak, (the blessed one), a lioness in northern Kenya's Samburu National Park has adopted her fifth newborn oryx this year, a Kenya Wildlife Service warden told Reuters this week. The oryx is a type of African antelope more likely to be viewed by lions as lunch than a little one to mother.
The wardens think Kamuniak's adoption of the little calf nicknamed Naisimari ("Taken by Force") took place at the weekend after they saw the two together this week morning.
"She must have adopted her yesterday because they are in harmony," Warden Gabriel Lepariyo said. Naisimari's natural mother has been seen following her offspring and its unlikely surrogate parent at a distance.
- Information adapted from www.planetark.org

****

Ma almost dropped the iddlis from the pressure cooker onto the kitchen floor when she heard her son screaming at the top of his lungs at his sister. And then she heard his howl for her assistance.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Chutki screwed up my computer!” Bhaiji bellowed in his still babyish, somewhat boyish seven year old voice, projecting the complete unfairness of it all to her. Obviously Chutki, being four, had proceeded to ignore him, as usual, because Ma heard him screaming again, this time accompanied by thuds, like bodies were being dragged along the top floor. Ma removed the steaming iddlis into a serving bowl and decided to reply to the pleas.

“Who taught you to say ‘screwed up’? Appa! Look, your kids are speaking your language now.” This of course had nothing to do with Chutki breaking the computer or playing with the keyboard or anything at all. She was just tired of cooking and the kitchen was hot. And she couldn’t find Appa, who had conveniently disappeared.

Bhaiji peeped into the kitchen and saw that Ma was not in any mood to be bothered. He decided that he needed to do something himself. So he strode back up the stairs right into his room where Chutki was engrossed in the letter “G” on the keyboard. She held the key down for a minute and looked up to the monitor with glee to see the rows and rows of gggggggggggggggggs appear on the screen in the loopy Comic Sans font. That did it. Bhaiji bounded straight from the door to her, yanked her by her stubby pigtails and dragged her kicking and screaming out of the room. This time Ma heard more bawling and screaming and the blows sounded serious. She looked up, almost expecting one of her children to drop through the roof.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Bhaiji beat me up!” Chutki bawled.

Ma shook her head, a bit of annoyance and indulgence. She knew quite well that Chutki was playing the little girl card very well, and being four, she got away with a lot of things. Life, according to Chutki was very sad. She was not allowed to play with Bhaiji, play with Bhaiji’s toys, or his computer though she did think that Bhaiji’s computer was the best toy ever. That led to another bawling session since now Chutki had reached a stage of “nobody loves me anymore”. Ma wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and decided it was time to intervene. Everyone had told her that Bhaiji would become a quieter kid once Chutki was able to interact with him. That didn’t happen. Not that Chutki interacted much with Bhaiji anyway; she was more interested in his toys. And Bhaiji had his own world filled with books, sketches on a doodle-pad and his computer. She knew he was different from the other kids in the neighborhood— different in a good way. But at seven, with his wild imagination and leadership attitude, he was a handful. It was good that her brother was coming home soon. That should be a fun event for the kids, she decided as she went to intervene.

Ma climbed the steps slowly to Bhaiji’s room, toward the sounds of incessant bawling and body dragging. “Chutki! Bhaiji!” she said in a low but quite menacing tone. That voice made both of them look up from their current activities of actively murdering each other.
In measured tones she said, “I will count till ten. If you two do not behave, you know what comes next.”
They had no clue what came next but the threat always worked. Ma picked up the keyboard from the floor and checked the computer that was actually quite used to this maltreatment. She hoisted Chutki onto her hip and wiped her tears, which led to another fresh bawling spate since Chutki was again overwhelmed with pangs of self-pity. Ma looked at Bhaiji who had the most indignant expression on his face since he knew that now he was in trouble for treating his sister like a cushion. She watched him hang his head and desperately try to look apologetic. He failed.

And to his surprise, Ma stood there and then announced, “You know that Mamaji’s coming home today. You must be good children now. Behave! No bad language and absolutely no fighting. Make Mamaji feel at home, he’s coming here all the way from Chennai. This will be fun….” her voice trailed off.
It had been four years since she met her brother. He was still in school and now he was coming to study. They had been close when they were kids but the years that they weren’t together yawned loudly before her. Would he still be angry with her for leaving him behind in Chennai while she “prospered in the US?” At least that’s what her father would say every time she called. But this was a start; at least he emailed her and told her about his admission in Stanford.
“Time for lunch― let’s go.” The children traipsed downstairs both clamoring for more news about Mamaji, when was he coming, was Chennai further than California, would he stay with them forever, was he taller than Appa, was he older than Bhaiji, was he a hundred years old…. the computer was forgotten!

****

It was late afternoon when Mamaji stepped out of the car. Appa had actually remembered to go to the airport and pick him up. The kids went running down the driveway to welcome this new and exciting person from India. There he was, a thin, bespectacled, young boy, with a mixed expression of amusement, fright and apprehension. He hasn’t changed, Ma thought. He still looked like he needed her help, like he used to when they were children and he would be getting into trouble. She always took the blame; it was easier that way. He came running to her and stopped awkwardly in front of her. Public displays of affection were not encouraged in their family and a hug would definitely convey that. She went up and hugged him. She had waited for a long while. She felt him relax a bit.
He looked down at the two expectant faces. “Hi you two!” he said.
To which Bhaiji instantly replied, “Hi you three, hi you four, hi you five...” This was Appa’s standard joke when he got back every evening from work. The kids laughed and decided to include Mamaji in their circle of acceptance.
Appa was lugging the two extremely heavy suitcases into the garage and muttering mock-angrily for the kids’ benefit about how heavy the bags were. Mamaji went to help him and finally the entire troop was in the house. “Guess what I have for you Bhaiji and Chutki?” Mamaji asked.
“Blues Clues!”
“No, Elmo!”
“No, silly, Harry Potter, Mamaji?” asked Bhaiji with hope.
“No, not Harry Potter and call me Soorya.” Mamaji said. “I got you Amar Chitra Katha comics!” he announced waiting for the customary squeals of gratitude and happiness.
There was silence.
“What’s that, Bhaiji? Chutki inquired, the more knowledgeable and curious of the two.
Bhaiji had no idea either but that did not stop him from guessing. “Silly, they are books about Superman and Spiderman combined.”
Mamaji laughed. “I guess you could say that, isn’t that so, Didi? Here! We have Mahabharata, Ramayan, Kalki, Stories of Krishna, Rani Padmini, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “the Vishnu Avatars!” Needless to say, Mamaji was more impressed with the books than the children. She smiled at him.
“You haven’t changed a bit, Soorya,’ Ma said quietly, voicing her thoughts. “How are the parents taking the exit of their last-born?”
“Amma was busy making laddoos, mysore paak, and avakkai for me to pack in my suitcase and Appa Senior was concerned that the American Express traveler’s cheques won’t be sufficient, so he was running around all over Chennai trying to get more cash. They are the same, the exit won’t register for a while I think…Didi, shall we call them up?” he asked.
The phone rang shrilly on the other end of the receiver. It was more of a riiiiiiiiiiiiiing, riiiiiiing in a deep tone that only Indian phone lines have. Ma could picture Appa Senior completely ignoring the telephone till Amma got up from her chair before the television and then rushed to pick up the receiver before he could. They had been playing these power games for years now; it was second nature to them.
“Appa, this is me, your son arrived here safely.” She held onto the phone, waiting for him to talk to her.
“Soorya? How are you? How was your flight? Did the traveler’s cheques work? Were your bags too heavy? Did they give you vegetarian food to eat in the plane? The Dubai plane was leaving at the same time, your mother and I got confused, we were waiting for you to get your clearance and come back to see us before you boarded the flight but we were waiting at the wrong gate. Were you able to get a window seat?” Appa Senior had many questions.
Soorya got on the other line and said his ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘no problem’ and ‘don’t-worry’ lines at the appropriate moments.
Ma looked at him and realized that he had grown up in his own way. He knew how to handle his parents without confrontations and problems. They simply let him be after a while. Not her though, she managed to create enough trouble by being herself. First it was her insistence to complete her degree in comparative literature, which made no sense whatsoever to them.
Her father shook his finger in front of her face and shouted at her in English, heavily laced with his Tamil accent, “When you have 98 percent in pheesix/chemistree/matheymaatix, would you rather not be in the science field? How do you get a job after that? Who wants a stenographer’s job?”
She smiled at him and infuriated him further.
Then it was her Ph.D. in the US. Her mother insisted, why would you do that? It was too far away and again, as Appa shook his head in frustration, who would give you a job after that?
She came to the US. And she met Abhi, fifteen years her senior, her support, her friend, her happiness. It wasn’t easy. She went home to tell her parents. Her father got very silent which only meant trouble. Her mother wept at her feet with her pallu spread in front towards her.
“Don’t do this to us; he’s too old for you. He is not even our caste. Think of your brother, please.”
She married him anyway. The parents did not talk to her for two long years. She went back home again after that, this time with Abhi. It was not to see her parents but to introduce her parents to Abhi and Bhaiji―Appa and Bhaiji actually. They had decided to call each other Ma and Appa for the sake of Bhaiji.

****

Bhaiji was very special. They adopted him when he was two and a half. He was at the South Asian women’s shelter that Ma volunteered at for six weeks. His mother put him up for adoption. No reasons asked or given. Maybe she simply wanted to go back to India away from her hell here. And maybe she did not want any reminders. Ma held Bhaiji while his mother signed her name the only word she knew how to spell in Gurmukhi. She was deported to India in two days. She didn’t even hold her child. Or look at him.

Bhaiji fell asleep on Ma’s shoulder. When she called up Abhi and told him, his response was typical. “Okay. But I hope he likes being around a South Indian father.” And then they went ahead to complete the adoption formalities.
Bhaiji was different, and so was Abhi. And Ma was happy with her two men. They went back to India. The parents came to the airport. They hoped to see their grandson as soon as they landed. Bhaiji went straight to Amma, she looked at him and then at Ma with a questioning glance. Ma did not have to say anything. They knew. This was trouble. Soorya as usual worked on the luggage, loaded it on the roof of the taxi, Appa Senior was silent. The trip faltered even before it had started.

They went home, and Amma asked tearfully “Why are you doing this to us? Is this what prosperity is? You go and pick up kids like alu-baingan! You don’t know who Bhaiji is or his family. Do you know what you have done? What about Abhi—?”
“What about him?” Ma could not stop herself from asking the obvious.
“Arre, is he fine with this? Why would you do this when you can produce your own?”
Abhi stood there with an ‘I-like-where-this-conversation-is-going-do-go-on’ expression. He told her later that the soap opera was actually nice, since they were not mad at him, their mappallai, for marrying their daughter but at her, for yet another surprise. They stayed for a week.
Appa Senior would not talk to Ma, he did talk politics with Abhi and a little bit of finance and then back to his favorite topic, cricket. He ended up liking Abhi since he had convinced himself that he did not know his daughter or her son. So it was a good trip somewhat. At least Ma had tried.

****

Then Chutki arrived. Ma sent them pictures of her babies. She called home every weekend. She asked them to visit the US and see their grandchildren. She tried. For four years. Her father mentioned prosperity-in-America. Now Soorya was home.
“OK, Ma, I’ll give half of the vadams and avakkai to Didi. Can I go now? The bill will be enormous. I’ll call you later next week from the university. Bye.” Mamaji hung up while Amma was still talking about all the other goodies to share.

Ma got up and made some coffee for Appa and Mamaji. The kids were busy trying to read their Amar Chitra Katha comics. Actually Bhaiji was and Chutki was trying to look at the pictures that her brother was desperately trying to hide from her.
“Would you like to eat soon, Soorya?” she asked.
He nodded. Soorya was always hungry. Which was good in India since Amma would feed him silly. “What did you make today, Didi?”
Ma had cooked all the South Indian dishes that she could think of, from tamarind rice, bisi bele bhaat, coconut rice, to jeera rasam, vethal kozhumba and onion sambhar. Soorya looked at all the dishes lined up in the kitchen with approval.
“Amma would approve. You aren’t as American as they think.” He smiled at her.
She wondered if she really would approve. Her mother had never eaten Ma’s food, attesting to the authenticity but she tried to bring a little bit of Chennai to California. Her connection to her family was food, so she tried.

****

Soorya went to the guestroom and took his clothes out for a shower. The children trooped into his room and followed him like puppies. Everything he did was fascinating. His thick glasses were striking; his Old Spice was novel; why even his coconut oil that Amma packed for him was different. It was obvious that the kids enjoyed having a new person around.
“How long will you stay with us, Suriyaa?” asked Bhaiji. “
Who’s Suriyaa?’ asked Soorya, ‘ tch! Just call me Mamaji.”
“OK.”
“How long will you stay here Mamaji?” Chutki asked now.
“Oh! A few days. Is that OK with you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What is ‘uh-huh’?”
“She means yes.” Bhaiji explained impatiently. “Would you play “search-the-fort” with me on my computer Mamaji?”
“Sure, after we eat.”

****

Dinner was a wonderful time at their house. Each would get a chance to play their music. Unfortunately it was Chutki’s turn this time. She wanted either the Barney song even though she was too old for it or the “Saathiya” song from the Hindi movie with the same name. And she wanted them to repeat. “Not good”, Ma watched Appa shake his head in disapproval and a bit of resignation. But this was a fair household, very democratic. So they listened to Barney and Sonu Nigam at regular intervals all through dinner.
While Ma passed the rasam to Soorya, he said, “You know, Bhaiji does remind me of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, when we were kids, always impatient, words tumbling over one another because the brain is thinking too fast.”
“How would you know that about me, kiddo?” asked Ma. “But yes, Bhaiji and I are very similar.”
“And me? Andme? Andme?” Chutki’s voice chimed in from the high chair, her words merging into one glob.
“And Chutki is most special.” Ma moved her daughter’s hair from her face as she ate her rice.
Appa kept an eye on Chutki who had proceeded to throw spoonfuls of rasam at Bhaiji at regular intervals. He changed the CD track to “Saathiya” again and she resumed eating. Finally, after Appa helped Ma clean up the dishes, put the kids to bed protesting and kicking, they sat down and chatted about their years in India growing up. Soorya didn’t appear jet lagged at all, but Appa was waiting for him to fall asleep any minute now. That always happens. That was his silent game, watching Soorya’s eyes behind his huge glasses, waiting for the eyelids to slowly fall while they talked.
“Did you adopt Bhaiji to spite Amma and Appa Senior?” Soorya asked unexpectedly—“Why did he ask that? Why now?”
There was silence. “Why would we do that Soori?” she asked her throat suddenly dry. “He came to us when we least expected him and has filled our lives. Really.” Her voice changed, as it used to, trying to convince her family, again.
“No, I mean… because that’s what they say.”
“Let them. Why do you have to echo that? You should know better.”
“But scientific data shows that if there is anything wrong with the family lineage, the adopted child will have streaks of that. You know that. What about him? Why did his mother abandon him, you know what I mean…there has to be a reason.”
“There is nothing wrong with my son. I won’t allow you to speak of him like that.” Ma realized that she was shaking as she got up and held on to a corner of a chair.

****

Bhaiji woke up from his dream of ‘search-the-fort’ with a start.
“Oh, Mamaji must be waiting for me to play with him! I should have gone to him right after dinner.” He spoke to himself as he got up and went downstairs. Then he heard Ma raising her voice. That doesn’t sound good, he thought, wickedly knowing that this time he wasn’t in trouble. Maybe Appa was in a soup this time because he was on the computer for too long and had forgotten to wear his glasses. No, was that Amma was crying? Just like Chutki, only more silent. He slowly crept downstairs, holding his pillow for support. He looked down through the banisters.

****

“We’re family, Soorya. And you’re my brother. I thought you would understand this.” Ma cried soft tears as she wiped her nose on her pallu..
“What’s there to understand? You’ve pretty much done whatever you wanted, all your life! Only I face the consequences. And it’s all because of you!!”
“What do you mean? Please, Soori…”
“Well, did you do it to spite me then? I haven’t been able to live my life for years now because of you. Any more shocks would kill them. First you take up creative writing, did you know how much you hurt them?”
“Come now Soorya, you should stop right there.” Appa interjected. Finally.
Soorya continued. “Grief stricken, that’s what they were. Did you ever realize that? Then Ph.D. in the same no-prospects field…living in your world of ‘I-am-doing-this-for-my-nuclear-family-that-I-love-so-much’! Did you so much as try to understand how they feel?”
“Fine!” Ma’s eyes blazed through her tears. “I didn’t and don’t understand them. But you, Soori,’ her voice broke again, ‘you know I always wanted them to…I’m their daughter, and you are my brother, come on Soori…”
“Yes, I’m your brother, and don’t think you’re doing me a favor by keeping me here for a few days. It is guilt that is pushing you to do the “right” thing.” After all, adopting that no lineage child or marrying the way you did …you know that wasn’t right. You know that. So why pretend now, Didi?”
“But, but…” Ma still couldn’t comprehend these sudden harsh words from Soorya, her younger brother! I’ve defended you all my life, I always let you get the better mithai from Amma…you went to engineering school even when Appa Senior had to liquidate his assets to do so. Her eyes swam in her pool of confusion, still unable to comprehend why Soorya hated her child so much. “I do love you Soorya, why would you think this way?” She tried again.
Abhi went to her and tried to move her to the bedroom. As was his nature, Abhi was too calm and collected to get into confrontations like these. According to him, confrontations weren’t good, especially when both parties were not ready to back off from an issue that was already decided upon. He nudged his wife to move towards the bedroom.
“I love you too Didi, but that doesn’t mean anything. You adopted a child without knowing anything about him. You think by spouting these American “I love you” type statements, we’ll be fine with all your decisions?”
Bhaiji ran up to Mamaji and pushed him with all his tiny might. “Leave my Ma alone!” he cried.
Mamaji fell back on the couch; quite surprised by this attack. Tiny fists pummeled him on his chest and shoulder. Appa dragged Bhaiji away and up to his bedroom. He watched him fall sleep before going downstairs. Mamaji was still sitting on the couch, dazed. Ma was weeping silently near the kitchen counter. Appa put his arms around Ma and took her to the bedroom.
She wept on his shoulder quietly as she clung to him tightly for support, just as Bhaiji had a few moments ago, in his room. Appa let her cry and smiled to himself as he watched his wife wipe her nose on his kurta. Like mother, like son.
“What did I do wrong, Abhi?” she asked in her blocked nose voice. “Why don’t they like me, he’s my son, he’s our son after all…” her voice trailed as she looked through her tears up to his face, and noted the appearance of tiny wrinkles near his eyes and mouth. She put out her hand to his face and touched the lines softly. “I am so sorry if I haven’t been a good wife to you. I thought they would like me more once they see our children. I keep thinking only about myself, don’t I?”
“A little…but I can live with that.” Abhi ran his fingers through her hair and gently nudged her to lie down. He switched off the light. “You don’t have to fight this you know. We are happy and so is Bhaiji. What else is there? You’re not proving anything to them so why are you trying so hard? You can’t win all the battles, you know that.”
“Yes, Abhi. But he’s my brother…” fresh tears streaked down her face.
“Shhhh.”
He waited till she fell asleep.
When he came back, Mamaji got up and said, “Please apologize to Didi on my behalf. I don’t know what I was thinking. I hope she can forget this.” He had a sacrificial lamb expression, as if he had been parroting all these thoughts he had heard, over and over in Chennai. Abhi raised his hand to stop him and told him to go to sleep.

****

Ma woke up with a start, jerking Abhi’s arm from her body. She knew she heard cries but she had never heard her son cry so quietly. Walking through the darkness, she stumbled on the small wooden pony near Bhaiji’s door, and the cries stopped.
“Betu,’ she called her son, ‘Bhaiji?”
She watched him trying his best to pretend to be asleep, with tell-tale tears and snot smeared all over his face. Ma pulled some tissues out of the box on the bedside table, sat down on his tiny bed, and wiped his face gently.
“Mommy…”
She hugged his little body as he became a three year old again, clinging to her fingers as she hugged him. “Shhh…”
“I don’t like Mamaji, Mommy.” She deciphered the words through his tears.
“No, Bhaiji. Don’t say that. He loves you, he just doesn’t know how to show it. And tomorrow, you have a big job to do.”
“I do?” Big black eyes stared back at her, somehow realizing that he was part of an important mission.
“Yes, Bhaiji. Tomorrow, you’ll show Mamaji that we all love him. Even if he says things that hurt. You will go and give him a big hug and wake him up in the morning.”
“No I won’t. No I won’t. No I won’t.”
“OK, betu.” She calmed him down with her hand slowly caressing his stiff, little body and finally she felt him relax and let go of her other hand.
****
The next morning Abhi had already woken up and made a fresh pot of coffee by the time Ma realized that she had overslept. She quickly washed her face, brushed and ran downstairs to see Abhi and Mamaji sitting at the kitchen counter drinking coffee, as if they did that every day. They both looked at her as Mamji stopped in mid-sentence and mid-gulp of his coffee.
“Didi…”
“Good morning Abhi….Soori.” She could not get herself to look at him directly yet. But she could not miss his eyes trying to say the right thing either. She went to the coffee pot and concentrated on pouring out the coffee into her cup very carefully. Abhi continued his conversation about research assistantships at Stanford with Mamaji and was rudely interrupted by a loud thump, thump, thump coming closer to them from upstairs. Abhi looked at Ma, his eyebrows making perfect question marks, she shrugged.
Bhaiji came down with a paper in hand and Chutki in tow, both wearing their Halloween king and Cinderella costumes and shoes. Ma involuntarily said, “Beta, no shoes in the house.” But she said it quietly so they did not hear. And they were too engrossed in their costumes to care anyway. They stomped to Mamaji and Bhaiji ceremoniously presented him with the paper.
“On behalf of the Iyer kingdom,” his sister giggled as Bhaiji continued, “you are now welcome to this family.”
“Bhelcome to this famlee.” Chutki echoed and waved her a stick like a wand at Mamaji.
Not really knowing what to do or think, Mamaji looked at his sister who was smiling at her children and then he accepted the paper. The children crowded around him while he opened the sheet. There was a family of four with Appa, Ma, Bhaiji and Chutki labeled on top. Then he noticed Bhaiji’s stick-like arm extended towards another figure in a corner labeled Mamaji.
“Thank you, Bhaiji.” He extended his hand out that Bhaiji held on to. Bhaiji watched his mother as he awkwardly pulled his uncle closer to him and hugged his knees. Chutki followed her brother as they stood in the middle of the kitchen encircling Mamaji. Bhaiji looked away from his mother.
“And Mamaji...”
“What, Bhaiji?”
“Chutki made the sun in the other corner and colored it!”
Mamaji looked at his sister as she tried to smile back at him, her vision blurred through her tears. And she held out her arms for her children.

 

 

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