Our Mindset Episode 5
Traditionally, a sister-in-law’s children are addressed with respect and formality, whether they are nephews or nieces. Even now, I speak to my own and my husband’s cousins’ children with proper courtesy, never using informal language.
Until then, my husband’s aunt (Mami) had also spoken to us respectfully.
Before our marriage, we had visited their home several times for family functions, and she had always welcomed us warmly—“Come, Dada, have a seat, stay for a couple of days.” She treated us well, as any good host would. But once we started living on their farmland, something changed. She seemed to have developed a newfound arrogance.
Mami had five children—all their names started with the letter “M,” including hers. She had three daughters and two sons, four of whom were married. Her husband had held a good job, and after his passing, she received a pension. The youngest son was still unmarried and younger than my husband.
But after years of hearing his mother’s words, his mindset had shifted too. He started speaking disrespectfully, just like her.
That evening, Mami plotted against us and arrived at the farm the next morning with a single motive—making my life miserable so that I would leave, ensuring my husband stayed behind alone, just as he had before our marriage. To them, he was just a laborer, someone to work their fields. His wife, his children, his household—none of it mattered to them. It took me five or six months to realize this.
From that day onward, they began mentally harassing me.
That morning, they arrived at the farm to collect milk. My husband had gone to the water tank for a bath. Mami looked at me and said, “Where’s that Dadya? Hasn’t he milked the buffalo yet?”
I was shocked. She had always called him “Dada” with respect, but today, her tone dripped with authority and contempt.
Just then, my husband returned from the bath. Her son, Mangu, stood with his hands in his pockets, full of attitude. He had learned well from his mother. He spoke with a commanding voice, “From tomorrow onwards, before we arrive, the buffalo shed should be cleaned, the milking done, and fresh fodder placed in front of the animal. Your own tasks come later.”
Then, raising his voice, he asked, “Did you get that?”
His name was Mangu. My husband quietly replied, “Okay.”
Mami’s tone had surprised me, but Mangu’s words left me in shock. I couldn’t understand why they were suddenly treating us like this.
That morning, my husband had delayed milking the buffalo because he had gone to the field first to relieve himself, then bathed at the water tank. Hearing their harsh words, he skipped his morning tea and hurried to milk the buffalo.
Mami turned to Mangu and instructed, “Take the milk home, send the women to work at the scheduled time, send my lunch with them, and come pick me up at exactly 5:30 in the evening.”
Mangu got on his bike to take the milk home. At that moment, my husband hesitantly asked, “Mangu, should we buy a bicycle? It’ll be useful for carrying fodder and going to the village.”
Mangu’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Every two minutes, a vehicle passes by. Just wave someone down and hitch a ride to the village. Do the same to come back.”
Mami added, “Why wave them down? Everyone in the village knows you. If they see you walking, someone will stop their vehicle for you.”
Then Mangu smugly corrected himself, “And don’t call me Mangu. Call me ‘Malak’ (Master).”
Hearing this, my husband looked as if someone had slapped him with a sandal.