No Longer A Memory: How A Constable Turned His Mother Into His Muse

Female Gaze

- SANDHYA MENDONCA

Gowramma, 69, says her husband wasn't a bad man. He was just lazy. That he never stirred himself to do a day's work was realised by her father only after he married off his youngest and favourite daughter. She relives the memories of the days when she toiled on a farmer's land for daily wages. "I used to break the ground with a shovel for eight rupees a day."

Her son chimes in, "She couldn't count, so I used to count the number of days she worked and tell her how much she had to be paid."

Those days are fortunately far behind them, as her son has not only built a house for them in their village but has also been able to rent a cosy place in the city. It's quite close to where I stay, a part of an old house - one of the rare ones that haven't been pulled down to be replaced by apartments. I dropped in to visit them and was plied with 'obbattu' (chapati filled with dal and jaggery) and coffee.

Shiva, with a bushy moustache and twinkling eyes, has been a friendly and familiar face. We bond at many levels - our mutual love for walking either in the neighbourhood or Lalbagh, or Cubbon Park, our shared mother tongue, our artistic pursuits - he as a photographer, and I as a writer, and our close bonds with families. His life is extraordinary, and I never cease to marvel at his ability to live the life he wants and that his success hasn't changed his nature.