Mai and her Queens

I never met Mai. She was my Marathi Panji (great grandmother). She was never Aai or Ajji, she was always Mai. She lost her husband while pregnant with her last son. The oldest 2 siblings practically raised the younger ones along with Mai. My maternal grandpa, my Aajoba was one of those 2 oldest.

This was pre-Independence India. Some years passed and the freedom movement was in full swing. There was a 2nd World War raging. During this time, my Aajoba and Mai were fully committed to the freedom of India from the colonisers. They were freedom fighters in Nashik.

I have heard a story when Mai and her younger sister-in-law got sent to prison for their fight. In the women’s cell, there was an expectant mother. The rest of the prisoner women threw her a baby shower in the prison! I was so proud of this bunch, truly. These were no common criminals. They were just fighting to get their country back in their own hands. To get back their right! And they get punished for it! Well, they wore their imprisonment like a crown and threw one of their queens a baby shower. Resilience, defiance, owning their life. They were regular women from all walks of life, no entitlement nor any privilege. They were from an era famously known to be regressive with rigid gender roles. But while they fulfilled these roles of mother, wife, daughter-in-law, sister etc they also fought for a better future for their children. There was no grandiose sloganeering. Just a straightforward demand for the Brits to “go back” and leave us alone.

My paternal grandfather, my Palakkad born Tatha was fighting in the World War from Egypt. He was in the British Indian army and Indians got dragged into a war just because we were a colony and we were obligated to provide resources. Who knows what atrocities and horrors these soldiers witnessed. Today, we know the casualties in numbers. But every household has produced a Mai, an Aajoba, a Tatha like mine. Every household contributed and fought for a better India.

Mai, the matriarch ran the household in the old city of Nashik. She was respected and looked upon by her future grandchildren. One of them is my mother, my Aai. Aai has really fond memories of Mai and has many tales to tell. Family stories passed down generations.

That old house no longer exists. The lane however, reverberates daily with footsteps of free feet. Free to roam where they want, free to live, free to educate themselves, free to better their lives, free to protest, free to be lazy if they want. That house belonged to a few freedom fighters who dedicated their lives for their country. Today the place where it stood remains oblivious to those sacrifices.

Every household in Bharat has these beloved grandparents and great grandparents who gave a lot so we could enjoy the life we do today. When I decide to happily remain unmarried, have a successful career, be an outspoken and brash woman of the 21st century, I have those Queens of yesteryear to thank for it. They laid this foundation on which I walk proudly. Their defiance gives me this sense of self. Their resilience is what I carry in my genes. I’m so proud to belong to a lineage of these ancestors.

My Aajoba had a secret printing press which was used for printing pamphlets about uprisings and meetings. The Brits used to conduct raids for suppressing these activities. The family’s neighbour was a Policeman, and he got to know about this raid. He might be in the employment of the British Police but he was an Indian first. He rushed to inform Aajoba and they hurriedly threw the whole press in a deep well which was in the premises of our ancestral house. These wells were called Aad and they were much deeper than regular Vihir. It was impossible for anyone to detect something submerged in it. Equally impossible to retrieve once thrown. The press was lost forever. Maybe someone dug it up when the house was demolished?

Who knows?

Grandparents love sharing stories and grandchildren grow out of these stories and label them as “old wives’ tales”. Sometimes, just lend an ear and you might find some hidden gems. That era is gone. Those days are over. Their memories remain with some of those who lived back then. Remember them and never forget what they intended to pass on. They definitely didn’t intend to pass on what we are doing today. Pick up that phone and call your grandparents. Get into that vehicle and go meet them. I lost all 4 of them years ago, but if yours are living show them your love and gratitude.

I never met Mai. I was just 2 years old when I visited the ancestral home and we never went back, so I don’t remember it. I never saw the press which disappeared into the Aad. I have only inherited fragments of memories and retellings and passed down tales from the family archives.

Somewhere in that neighbourhood, people walk freely today blissfully ignorant about those women who went to prison for their fight for Bharat’s freedom, the men who fought a whole world war as well as a war against colonialism on the home front, the families who endured separation, or all those people who risked everything to gift us this freedom which we today take so much for granted.

Perhaps this is how it should be. Freedom should feel ordinary to those who inherit it. That doesn’t mean we forget that it was extraordinary to those who fought for it.