Our Mindset Episode 17
I told my husband, “This Sunday, we are not going to the village. We need to finish our household chores—get the kids’ hair cut, chop wood for the week, and only go to the market at five in the evening. If we keep working for Mami even on our day off, who will take care of our own home?”
Cutting wood, especially from babul trees, was a painful task. Thorns pricked my hands daily, making kneading dough, washing utensils, and scrubbing clothes even more difficult. The pain sometimes brought tears to my eyes. Yet, I had no choice—every day, I needed firewood to cook on the chulha and heat water for baths.
That afternoon, Mangu arrived with four or five of his friends. He announced, “I’ve brought mutton! We’re having a feast in the fields. Bring the vegetables, and tell Nanda to make the bhakris.” With that, he left.
The children overheard him. Mutton was their favorite. Since we had moved here, we hadn’t had it even once. My son Praveen eagerly asked, “Papa, can we come with you?” My husband replied, “I’ll take you when I come to pick up the bhakris. Until then, go play.” Aparna chimed in, “Papa, I want to come too!” He nodded and walked away. The kids, thrilled, went back to playing, while I watched them and continued making bhakris.
Evening arrived. My husband returned for the bhakris. The children were ready to go with him, but he stopped them. “It’s dark now, and there are no lights in the fields. Have dinner here and go to sleep.”
I pleaded, “At least check if there are some eggs at the settlement. The kids were so excited for mutton. I could at least make them an egg dish.”
He dismissed my request. “They’re waiting for bhakris over there. Should I waste time looking for eggs? I’ll bring mutton on Sunday or next time.” And with that, he left.
I had some leftover vegetables from the morning. Speaking gently, I convinced the kids to eat, though they were clearly disappointed. “Mom, when will we get mutton?” Praveen asked. His words burned in my heart. I reassured them, “Sunday, for sure.” The three of us finished our meal in silence. I couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of life had I come to?
Before, whenever the kids lacked something, I could simply go to my mother’s house. It was just 22 kilometers away. But now, I was 70 kilometers away—too far for a quick escape.
The next morning, as always, Mami arrived. She announced, “Dada, since my buffalo got pregnant, I haven’t been able to leave the farm even for a couple of days. But now that there’s nothing to worry about, Mangu and I are going to my brother’s place for a few days. Take care of the buffalo properly—bathe her every Sunday and bring the milk home morning and evening. While I’m away, the field will be in full bloom, so make sure to weed it properly, prune the pomegranate trees, and harvest the crops. Also, water the sugarcane and clear out the overgrown grass.” She handed me a hundred rupees for the market and left.
Everyone in the village knew we lived on the farm now, but since Mami and Mangu were always working there, no one ever visited us. My husband had another uncle’s wife—a second Mami—who lived in the village. She had only one son, Pradeep. Both of my husband’s uncles had passed away. Apart from them, there were three cousins, three Mamis, their children, and another person—someone who had promised to visit us since Mami had left for the village.