New Mummy

I was not invited to my father's wedding. I didn't even know there was a wedding until the last week of January. It was precisely after the first anniversary of my mother's death. 

I was in Delhi with my sister when our phone rang, "You have a new Mummy now." My grandmother announced over the telephone with childlike excitement and triumph.

After spending the past year looking for a new woman to replace Mummy, my grandparents had successfully arranged another marriage for Papa. I was curious about the woman; she was much younger than my father and was named Sia. She will move into our home in Delhi next week.

Into the home where we lived as a family with Mummy. 

Into the home where Papa truly fell in love with Mummy.

Into the home where we decided to move to Toronto as a family with Mummy.

Into the home where we got news of the pregnancy and celebrated with Mummy.

Into the home where we said goodbye to Mummy.

Into the home where we mourn Rinku and Mummy.

I was only 5. I remember waking up on Neha's birthday and being surrounded by women wearing white. It scared me, and I ran outside to find Papa. Papa was wearing white too. Not just him, but our house was full of people, some of whom I recognized, wearing white."Papa, what's going on?! Don't people wear white at funerals? I remember watching it in the movie Hum Aapke Hai Kaun last week!"

The absurdity of white-robed strangers was replaced by another strange sight. Four men entered our house, murmuring "Ram Naam Satya Hai" and carrying a wooden plank on their shoulders. It was very similar to the wedding plank I had seen at Bua's wedding, but this wasn't decorated with flowers or smelled like roses. It also had something at the top, but I wasn't tall enough to see what.

I followed them to the next room, waiting for them to lower the plank so I could see. My five-year-old mind couldn't have anticipated what came next. It was my mother under a white sheet. Why was everything white?

Bua told Neha and me to touch Mummy's feet. I had so many questions. Why were we touching Mummy's feet? Touching feet was an annoying ritual that signified respect for elders. What if we didn't respect them or disliked them? Shouldn't we have a choice on showing respect to only certain elders? I had never touched Mummy's feet when she was alive, but she knew I respected her - why the pretense now?

Also, why were her nostrils stuffed with cotton? "How will she breathe?" I had naively asked my sister.

Later in the evening, I asked my dad why Mummy wasn't fat anymore. There were mentions of a baby brother. "Are you excited for your baby brother? What will you name him?" "Rinku!" A nickname I had given him until the official naming ceremony.

Where was Rinku?

Papa broke down crying, and I was sent to play with my cousins. We exchanged horror stories, and my older cousin mentioned Mummy will always be with me. "She is in the room with us right now. You can't see her physically because she has joined the stars, so if you look up to the sky, she will be the brightest star there." I thought my cousin must be right. She was 10 years old, after all, so much older and wiser than me.

I couldn't see Mummy, though. This scared me, so I ran away. I didn't want to play with my cousins anymore. I wanted to see Mummy and curl up in her lap and meet Rinku.

That's the last memory I have of Mummy in this house. She is no longer remembered as Mummy, only as Badi Mummy. No one talks about her anymore. She is like a horror story that no one wants to hear for fear of it coming true. None of her belongings are in the house, neither is her smell. The hall isn't filled with her laughter or her chasing after me to finish my meal. Now she has been replaced with a larger-than-life photograph in the living room, draped with a garland. But I'm much older now - I'm 6 years old. I am excited to meet my new Mummy.