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Society
To be Single and a Mother
by Karina Araos
Everyday, I
take a 15-minute ride to the school where I teach. And since I don't
have the luxury of hiring a nanny, I take my two-year-old son with me. I
drop him off at his dad's, and pick him up on my way back home. On days
his dad is too busy to watch him, I take him to school with me.
Sometimes my friends take care of him; sometimes I even take him to my
classrooms! But no matter how the day fares for the both of us, it
always ends with another dreadful 15-minute ride home.
Fifteen minutes may not seem long to most people, but to me it is always
uncomfortably long. Day after day, I get the same questioning stares and
knowing looks from other passengers. And, no, I'm not a local celebrity,
and I am certainly not paranoid. I'm just your average single mom.
On better days, other passengers just smile at me and my adorable little
boy. But, there are days when people can't seem to resist a question or
two. "What's his name?" "How old is he?" I am a friendly person, and not
too bothered by this. "His nickname is Kyamoi," I reply. But when the
questions start getting a bit too private and when complete strangers
start dropping unsolicited advice about what I should do with my life, I
automatically drop the conversation and shut them out.
Surprised that people actually ask strangers intrusive questions? You
must hear this, then.
It was raining one day, and I was running late. So, with my bag hanging
on one shoulder, carrying my son with one arm and holding an umbrella
with another, I hailed a jeepney. Inside, I saw an old man sitting
beside me give me a piercing look.
As the jeepney drove on, I saw him shaking his head as if in irritated
sympathy. Like I said, I'm not paranoid but, sometimes, instinct lets
you see right through a person. I honestly felt insulted and invaded.
But I have been socialised to revere older people.
Minutes later, unable to contain himself, he finally spoke to my son.
"Hi there, little man," he started. "Hello," came my son's weak reply.
"Where are you going?" he asked. My son looked at me as if asking for my
consent, and when I didn't say anything, he answered "To Papa." "You
poor guy. Your father left you and your mom, didn't he? And I bet he
doesn't even visit you; that's why you're the one who goes to visit him,
isn't it?"
I felt blood surge to my face. A greater part of me wanted to slap him
then and there, no matter how much older he was. But I just stared at
him, because the smaller part of me - which felt like I deserved it -
won.
I'm a young mother without a ring on my finger. What could I expect from
individuals when society declares it indefensible? I so wanted to cry.
The rest of the passengers who heard what was said were looking at me,
waiting for something to happen. They looked as uneasy as I was. The old
man, on the other hand, did not so much as wince.
I knew the best thing for me to do at that moment was to just grit my
teeth and show the respect his old age afforded him. And so, I just
looked away and prayed to whoever was watching over me that my son would
not be affected by this incident. Respect or cowardice? You be the
judge; but I know that doing otherwise would have only set more tongues
wagging at the insolent young mother who had no ring on her finger. And
I'm tired of that.
At school, I couldn't concentrate. I found my mind wandering to the
morning episode. I began to doubt my convictions. Was I doing the right
thing? Was I only being selfish? My son will soon grow up and meet
people whose families are perfect or, at least, not as dysfunctional as
ours. Would he still be content with having just me and a part-time
father? Would he be able to understand why I did the things I did?
I had always been sure of myself, confident and secure. I chose to be a
single mother. I have my reasons, and I do not have to explain myself.
But that episode served as a reminder that society, with its high rise
buildings and cosmopolitan culture, is not yet forgiving of those who
stray from the norm. At most, it is more tolerant than it was, but
accepting it is not!
As for my son's happiness and contentment, that will depend on how
grounded a person I raise him to be. If he grows up with good judgement
then I know he will understand my decisions and my intentions. And he
might even admire me for that. But until then, I'll just have to keep my
faith.
May 7, 2006
By arrangement with
Women's Feature Service
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| Society
The Week of May 7, 2006
India-Pakistan Must Jointly Combat Terrorism
by Rajinder Puri
Releasing Masood Azhar was a Political Decision
by MH Ahsan
Extinction of Democracies and The Irish Elk by
Gaurang Bhatt, MD
Bhutan: India's Trusted Strategic Friend and
Ally in South Asia by Dr. Subhash Kapila
What is the Solution to the Kashmir Imbroglio
by TA Ramesh
Natural Disaster: A Concern for Security by
VK Joshi
High on Grass by Chitra Balasubramaniam
Look Around You by Naira Yaqoob
An Indian Summer by Dr. Prasenjit Maiti
The Question of Truth and Yogic Practice by
Ashish Nangia
Myths in Jyotish by Rohiniranjan
The Fairy Tale Code by Kelley Bell
Make Travel Fun for your Little One by
Garima Gupta
A Passionate Cry for Human Dignity by V.
Sundaram
Never Victorious, Never Defeated A Book
Review by Amreeta Sen
Bankim's Krishna-Charita : Some Observations
by Major Gen. Shekhar Sen, VSM
VPN : An Introduction by Ruchi
Gupta
The Witty Side by Melvin Durai
O Cancer: I am a Fighter Too by Ravi Pipal
My Mother : A Cup of Wonder by Dhiraj Bhimji
Raniga
Suseela a short story by NS Murty
Divorce a short story by Vikram Karve
Naushad : End of an Era by Ramendra Kumar
Interview with Emraan Hashmi and Shiney Ahuja by
MH Ahsan
To be Single and a Mother by Karina Araos
Plenty but not
Enough by Kavita Devgan
Ayurveda as a Career by Pallavi Bhattacharya
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