The Chronicles of My mother in law

 "Ma, please hand over my dupatta!"

"Ma, Bablu's online class is a little late today."

"Ma, today please make khandvi for dinner. I'm craving to have it."

"Also, MA.. "

"Haan meri Amma, got all your instructions right and now will you please pick up bag and leave for the greener pastures."

My mother in law of eight years smirked at me. She didn't have a soft heart to cajole or pamper me but definitely a tender soul that accepted me as a daughter over whatever the law said. Ma, had changed over the years from being a pesky MIL to a no nonsense mother to my husband and specifically Me!

Being into an intercultural marriage, we both had our shares of anxiety over accepting the other. We had to share a man- one whom she knew from the first cry and one who I would accompany till my last smile. 

"Oh, I would teach her all our customs and see no one would ever know she is not one amongst us." She had promised my husband. 

"Don't worry darling, I will learn it all from customs to caring for your mother. I will gel in like jam on bread and cheese on toast."

Mr. Husband felt like the new world Marco Polo who had discovered a Pangea which was a panacea to all masculine problems. Thus, started the mentoring and mending. MIL woke me every morning at 6am to see the sun in the eye. With sore, rubbing eyes, I would keep the kettle to boil as I fumed over lack of sleep. Then, over the breakfast table she made me take copious notes on a day's menu- "Potatoes and baigan for lunch with fried chillies and raita. Chakli and chivda, which we have to make, for evening tea. Khichdi, bajra nu rotla, sheera for dinner and... Aey, Rupal where is your attention?"

Here, I would have caught some lost sleep and patience. Yet, like an obedient DIL I nodded and went to kitchen memorizing the day's menu longer than my thesis paper. This strict regime continued for a good week when on weekend arrived some Masi's jethani's bahu's godbarai.

"Rupal, wear that fuschia pink bandhani we had gifted you at the engagement. Also, top it with the gold necklace your mother made for the wedding. Don't forget to visit the parlor for all this. After all this is your first public appearance as our Bahu!"

The preparations would have put Shloka Ambani to shame! I yet again obliged. The entire evening of some Tom, Dick ,Harry's godbarai I smiled and blushed as if it was my own. This evening and the whole week had set me ablaze with my conviction of a married life!

Then began the not so pleasant Silsila of 'I didn't do this', 'I can't do this', 'I have some other work' and the endless accusations and excuses played spoilt sport in our relationship. The husband was dragged into it. "Your mom did this", "Your mom is so insensitive", "Your mom wanted a maid like me" and there stood a gulf of bitterness between us.

Within a week of marriage, I came to hate my MIL which I thought would be so cliche and stereotyped. We let our battles turn into wars, ugly ones leaving scars. The days were getting scarier while the nights gave us some respite.

Finally, one day I decided to address the elephant in the room.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT BLOG

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