Mother’s advice

This was the first fiction story that I had written, a few months back.

I had written it when I came to know about a kid whose mother had consumed the bathroom cleaning fluid because she couldn’t take her alcoholic husband’s beating. And the mother had to be rushed to the hospital to have her stomach flushed while the poor kid spent the entire night in agony and received an extra dose of beating from her father because of what her mother had done.

She stood by the stove, watching the milk come to a boil, her eyes welling up with tears. She bit her lip to hold back her tears. Her lips hurt too. She traced her finger over her lower lip and found that the cut had deepened.

She switched off the gas, walked to the spice shelf, took a tea spoon of turmeric in a bowl and mixed it with a bit of water to make a paste. She applied it on the cut on her lip, the scratches on her hand and the bruises on her arm, hoping and praying that they would heal and not leave a mark. After all she had a visit due to her parent’s home next week.

She took the tomatoes and chillies out of the fridge and placed them on the chopping board. She recollected and followed her mother’s advice, “Cut them fine and curl your fingers to avoid getting a cut.”

“Remember to always season with less salt, you can adjust it later if you want.” “Fry the groundnuts till they turn dark brown to render them crunchy.”

Mother was never wrong; she always had the right advice.

” It must have been your fault,” her mother chided her when she complained that her husband would beat her up. “Why will he hit you otherwise? After all he is your husband. It’s been just 2 months since you got married and instead of adjusting, you complain?”

“All men who hit are not bad. Haven’t you seen your father? He also hits me. Does this mean he is bad? Hasn’t he given you a good life? It’s just a year, try adjusting and doing things right and eventually it may stop”

“It’s not even been 2 years since you got married and you want to leave him? Don’t come back to our home if you do. The doors of this house are closed for you, that house is the only place that you have. What will people say if you come back?

We have spent so much money in your marriage that your father is still paying off those debts. You have a comfortable life,you don’t have to work, you just need to take care of the house and watch TV. Don’t watch these English shows. God knows how those people are and what their parents teach them.”

She washed the puffed rice under the running water, and recalled her conversation with her mother. “Dress up well, don’t slack because you have been married for long. We are awaiting the time when we can play with our grandkids. If you have a child then maybe his temper also will cool off and you can finally settle down. Don’t forget to buy rat poison, its monsoon time and the last thing that you want is for the pests to ruin your life, kill them before they cause trouble”.

She tempered the oil in the utensil, sautéed the tomatoes and chillies in it, put the spices in carefully and added the puffed rice. “Don’t forget to add a bit of sugar to make the perfect poha.” She smiled as she could almost hear her mother admonish her. She emptied the contents of the utensil into a plate, placed a spoon next to it and walked out of the kitchen.

She placed the plate on the coffee table while her husband read the newspaper. As soon as she turned to walk back, he held her arm tight and gave her a sound slap. She felt she went deaf for a minute and winced in pain. “Where is my tea?” he demanded. He jerked her hand and pushed her away.

She wanted to reply back, to tell him that she didn’t get it out of the fear that it may turn cold, since he would eat the poha first. She cried and walked into the kitchen silently fearing that any response from her would be awarded with another slap.

She made the tea as quick as possible, cursing her fate, cursing that she was a woman, cursing that she had no power in her hands but being careful of the 1.5 teaspoons of sugar that was a must in his tea.

She walked out of the kitchen, placed the cup of tea on the table and stood next to the kitchen door. He drank his tea, sipping it slowly, engrossed in the newspaper and taking bites of the poha as well. She knew it would happen some time now.

She continued staring at him. Suddenly, he clenched his throat and glanced at her, signaling her to get water. She didn’t budge. His eyes popped, turned red with rage. He was now holding his chest and tried reaching for something, anything, to throw at her.

She looked at his helplessness and stood transfixed. He fell on his knees and called for help like a man drowning in a sea. He struggled for a few more minutes and finally his heart gave up. He fell on the floor with a thud and the foam from the corner of his mouth spread on the floor.

All this while she clasped the empty bottle of rat poison in her hands. Now you know what it feels like, she thought.

“Don’t let the pests ruin your life, kill them before they cause trouble.”


37 thoughts on “Mother’s advice

  1. It’s incredible that in today’s world, there are still places where such a thing is considered ‘Just another day’. I’d say that he got less than what he deserved,powerful story!

  2. That’s too much violence.

    I remembered one of the old movies which I saw in our regional language. A lady goes to a psychiatrist for help and he tells her couple of ways. The lady fails miserably and gets beaten like shit. At last the psychiatrist tells her to hit him back. That night she thrashes him and from the next day, the guy is shown to turn modest and down to earth. Hehe.

  3. It happens in America in real life. Every quarter hour in America a woman is rushed to the doctor or the ER because of spousal/boyfriend abuse. Great story. Great style on the flash.

  4. A chill up my spine and a double dose of goosebumps. Beautifully written. The power in the words make it hard to believe it’s a fictional piece! Thank you for raising such a strong voice against abusive violence; it deserves to be heard by many more.

  5. Wow, this is really something. I have always liked your writings but this was at some other level. Keep it up. Excellent.

    • Thank you 🙂

      Domestic violence is sadly classified as an internal matter of the family, it needs to be considered as a social evil. Was in love with the ghanti bajao initiative, unfortunately it wasn’t implemented well…

      • Some 5 years back it was advertised aggressively wherein if in your apartment/ place where you live, behind closed doors if there are instances of abuse then don’t treat it as a family matter…ring the doorbell whenever you listen to screams to make the abuser understand that you know about what is going on…

  6. This story is devastating to me. Every life sees the choices of others, then makes it’s own choice.

    I feel so blessed…and long for others to know the peace that I have come to know in a crazy, broken world.

    You’ve written well. The proof? Look how I’m enmeshed in the story!

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