Arundhati Roy’s Memoir Explores Challenges of Being Mother Mary’s Daughter

Arundhati Roy’s memoir, *Mother Mary Comes to Me*, explores the complexities of her relationship with her mother, revealing the profound impact of intergenerational trauma and familial violence.

In *Mother Mary Comes to Me*, Arundhati Roy delivers a stark and deeply emotional portrait of intergenerational trauma and familial violence, intimately recounting her life experiences with and without her mother.

Roy’s mother, Mary, was a formidable figure whose legacy extended beyond her role as a woman and educator. Mary Roy notably challenged the Travancore Christian Succession Act of 1916, which denied women in parts of Kerala equal inheritance rights, ultimately taking her fight to the Supreme Court and winning. With sheer determination, she founded Pallikoodam in Kottayam, Kerala, an innovative school celebrated for its progressive curriculum that emphasized arts, music, and athletics.

Arundhati describes her mother as someone who conducted herself with the edginess of a gangster, unleashing her genius, eccentricity, radical kindness, militant courage, and unpredictable temper on their insular Syrian Christian society. This vivid portrayal illustrates how Mary made space for all aspects of herself within their small world.

However, Mary Roy was also a tough and broken woman. Her father was abusive, inflicting violence on his children and even injuring his wife. To escape this environment, Mary married the first man who proposed to her. Arundhati’s father, described as a “Nothing Man” and an alcoholic, further complicated their lives. Following her separation from him, Mary took her young children, Arundhati and her brother Lalith Kumar Christopher Roy (LKC), back to Kerala, unable to endure her husband’s presence any longer.

Returning to Ayemenem, just outside Kottayam, shattered Arundhati’s childhood further. She faced the stigma of being fatherless while living among “decent people.” Yet, she gradually became part of the landscape, forming a connection with the river, the village, and the wilderness, often retreating home as seldom as possible.

Roy’s narrative captures the emotional dislocation and societal judgment that defined her upbringing, while also revealing her quiet rebellion against adversity. Arundhati and her brother became their mother’s only refuge, but this came with unpredictability and emotional turmoil. She learned to navigate her mother’s moods, constantly anticipating the next outburst. Her mother’s love was often entangled with emotional blackmail, as she would say, “I love you Double,” leveraging their father’s absence against them.

Mary’s rage toward men, shaped by her experiences with her father, husband, and brother, was often redirected toward her son. In a particularly harsh moment, she told him, “You’re ugly and stupid. If I were you, I’d kill myself.” As an adult, Arundhati recognized that her brother was the only man her mother could punish for the perceived sins of the world. This dynamic fostered distrust between the siblings, as their mother played them off against each other.

In the early chapters of *Mother Mary Comes to Me*, Roy sets the stage for a turbulent adulthood shaped by the inescapable legacy of intergenerational trauma. The question arises: who escapes such an inheritance without being scarred?

Like many children shaped by trauma, Arundhati oscillated between hating her mother and loving her unconditionally. She quickly learned that excelling academically was her ticket to her mother’s approval, a survival strategy that became essential. Mary encouraged her to write, even editing her work with ruthless precision. However, as Arundhati’s literary success grew, her mother began to resent the author she had become.

Reflecting on her experiences, Arundhati writes, “I learned early that the safest place can be the most dangerous. And that even when it isn’t, I make it so.” These lines encapsulate the lifelong battle she waged within herself—a struggle that resonates throughout her Booker Prize-winning novel, *The God of Small Things*, where characters grapple with trust and the fleeting nature of happiness.

When Arundhati won the Booker Prize, she immediately called her mother, who simply responded, “Well done, baby girl.” This moment, which should have been one of the happiest in her life, was overshadowed by the persistent elusiveness of a solid relationship with her mother. Arundhati reflects that this was “the price I paid for being Mother Mary’s daughter.”

Following Mary Roy’s death, Arundhati found herself inconsolable, unraveling under the weight of their complicated relationship. The daughter who had spent her life resisting her mother’s control was ultimately broken by her absence.

In contrast, her brother LKC navigated the aftermath with a quieter resilience. He grew into himself with confidence, marrying and becoming a father, pouring love into his child. While Arundhati carried her mother’s fire, LKC found peace and a way to live despite their shared past.

The memoir delves into the profound mystery of Arundhati’s love for her mother. She muses, “If I could understand myself better, I’d probably understand a lot more about the world and certainly about my country, in which so many people seem to revere their persecutors and appear grateful to be subjugated.”

This inner conflict has fueled her lifelong battle against both personal and societal injustices, as she passionately advocates for marginalized communities, championing causes such as Kashmiri independence, Maoist rebels, environmental movements like the Narmada project, and nuclear disarmament.

Through these struggles, Arundhati embodies her mother’s strength, refusing to be silenced and speaking for those who cannot. At sixteen, she ran away from home to Delhi, marking a pivotal moment in her life. She fled because she felt like an “address-illathu pillaru”—a child without an address, a proper family name, or a true sense of belonging. Some might argue that Arundhati has been running ever since, as even moments of solace in her work or relationships feel temporary and precarious.

*Mother Mary Comes to Me* serves as the origin story of one of India’s most polarizing authors—a woman shaped and often torn by the painful contradictions of her life. It narrates her journey between a progressive education and an insular, patriarchal family structure, juxtaposing her extraordinary success with the wounds of a childhood marked by violence, control, and emotional isolation. Ultimately, it reflects her fierce independence and her enduring quest for her mother’s love and approval.

In sharing this story, Arundhati may not only be reflecting on her past but also seeking to lay certain burdens to rest. Perhaps now, with her mother gone, she will finally find a measure of peace within herself.

Source: Original article

Lessons Learned by Indian-American Parents When Sending a Child to College

Sending a child off to college is a profound transition that brings both excitement and emotional challenges for parents and students alike.

Last summer, I experienced a milestone I thought I was prepared for: dropping my first child off at college. Armed with spreadsheets and to-do lists, I even created a checklist dubbed “The Foundational F’s” to help our family navigate the transition. This checklist included essential areas such as Faith, Family, Fitness, Focus, Finances, and Fun.

However, no amount of planning could prepare me for the emotional weight of this moment. In the days leading up to the big move, I found myself folding laundry with tears in my eyes and cherishing one last back scratch. I was grappling with the logistics of goodbye while simultaneously embracing my new identity as the parent of a college student.

This transition reminded me of the work I do in leadership and social impact. Sometimes, our role is not to hold on tightly but to create structures that enable others to thrive independently. Whether I’m building a leadership team, transitioning out of an interim role, or supporting a client through a change initiative, the same principles apply: set clear expectations, create systems of support, allow individuals to bring their full selves to the table, and step back, even when it’s difficult.

Sending a child to college serves as a masterclass in releasing control with love. It underscores the importance of ritual, reflection, and support during any significant transition, personal or professional.

If you are navigating a similar change, my wish for you is this: may you have the structure to feel prepared, the grace to acknowledge what’s real, and the courage to let go without losing your connection.

As I reflect on my experience, I want to share some valuable lessons and tips that can help make this milestone both meaningful and less stressful.

Pre-Drop Off: Laying the Groundwork

As move-in day approached, I was hit with a wave of panic. A mountain of tasks loomed ahead, from medical check-ups to shopping for dorm essentials, and I wished I had started my preparations much earlier. Here are some strategies that helped me navigate this hectic time.

First, consider giving your child a pseudo-college experience. My child found that attending a summer camp where he stayed in dorms for a week was incredibly beneficial. This brief taste of independence helped ease the transition when the actual move-in day arrived.

Next, create a comprehensive to-do list. The weeks leading up to drop-off can be a whirlwind of logistics, including medical appointments and financial paperwork. Starting early is crucial, as is ensuring that your child is fully prepared for independence.

Utilizing convenient shopping options can also alleviate stress. We took advantage of in-store pickup for dorm essentials, allowing us to shop online and pick up items locally near campus without the last-minute rush.

Taking time off work proved to be one of my best decisions. I dedicated a couple of days, in addition to the weekend, to focus on packing and organizing. If I could do it again, I would take a full week off to manage both the logistics and the emotional aspects of this transition.

Planning a special family dinner was another highlight. This gathering was less about saying goodbye and more about celebrating the milestone. I expressed my pride and confidence in my child, emphasizing that they had everything they needed to succeed.

Setting communication expectations is vital as well. While college is about independence, keeping the lines of communication open is essential. We agreed on a weekly call at a time convenient for my child, which helped avoid stress later on.

It’s also important to ask for your child’s input during this process. This is a significant moment for them, and giving them some control over how they want to celebrate or say goodbye can make the experience more meaningful.

Finally, consider planning a family trip for December. After drop-off, we scheduled a trip to reconnect without the distractions of the holiday season, allowing us to spend quality time together.

During Drop Off: Making the Most of the Moment

Move-in day is intense, filled with excitement and emotional goodbyes. The best advice I received was to manage my expectations, especially regarding the farewell moment. Here’s what I learned.

Take time to explore the campus with your child, admiring their new surroundings and encouraging them about the opportunities ahead. Genuine excitement can help ease both your nerves and theirs.

Booking a quiet dinner the night before move-in can lead to deep conversations. This time allows your child to feel seen and heard, fostering an environment of support.

Savor the final night together. Cuddling or sharing a back scratch can be comforting, as these moments may be the last of their kind as your child steps into adulthood.

Be mindful of your emotions and fatigue. Stress can lead to unnecessary arguments, so staying calm and collected is essential for a smooth experience.

If possible, consider saying goodbye the night before move-in. This way, the focus on the actual day can remain on logistics. Writing a letter to leave behind can also provide comfort for your child when they need it.

Expect a quick goodbye on move-in day. Often, students are eager to dive into their new social environment, so don’t take it personally if the farewell is brief.

After drop-off, take time to celebrate your own milestone. My partner and I stayed an extra night to enjoy the campus and acknowledge this significant transition in our lives.

Post-Drop Off: Processing the Transition

The days and weeks following drop-off can be surprisingly emotional. Even if you expect to feel pride, there’s often a mix of grief involved. Here are some ways to handle it.

Allow yourself time to grieve. This is a significant life change for you, too, and it’s normal to feel sad. Processing these emotions is essential, as it signifies that you’ve raised an independent, capable person.

Be prepared for a messy return. If you visit after move-in, the once neat room may now be chaotic. Embrace this as part of the college experience.

Engaging in a deep clean at home can also help you process your emotions. It’s a small way to regain control after such a significant change.

Finally, help your child reflect and heal during their first semester. College can bring up unresolved feelings, so ensuring they have tools for emotional support is crucial.

As you prepare for this transition, remember that the process is as much about you as it is about your child. It’s a time to celebrate your journey together while making space for the emotions and changes that lie ahead. You’ve got this!

Source: Original article

Experienced Skydiver Dies in Plunge After Relationship Ends

Jade Damarell, a 32-year-old experienced skydiver, died by suicide one day after her relationship ended, according to a coroner’s ruling in northern England.

Jade Damarell, a seasoned skydiver from Wales, tragically fell to her death in County Durham, northern England, on April 27. This incident occurred just one day after she and her partner ended their eight-month relationship.

According to reports, Damarell, 32, intentionally failed to deploy her parachute during the jump, leading to her death from blunt trauma injuries. Coroner Leslie Hamilton ruled her death a suicide during an inquest held recently, as reported by The Guardian.

Damarell was an accomplished skydiver, having logged over 500 successful jumps throughout her career. On the day of her fatal jump, she disabled her automatic activation device, which is designed to release a backup parachute at a certain altitude and speed if the skydiver is unable to do so. Investigators confirmed that her equipment was functional following her fall.

Prior to her death, Damarell had been in a relationship with Ben Goodfellow, a 26-year-old fellow skydiver. The couple had ended their relationship the night before her tragic jump, according to a note from Goodfellow summarized during the inquest. A friend of the couple shared that “the night before Jade died, Ben called off the relationship.” Goodfellow went to work the following day, and it was during this time that Damarell took her fatal jump.

Interestingly, Damarell had completed six skydiving jumps the day before her death. Typically, she would wear a camera to document her dives, but she chose not to wear one during her last jump.

In the wake of this tragedy, Damarell’s family expressed their gratitude to the skydiving community for its support. They described her as “brilliant, beautiful, brave, and truly extraordinary.” The family emphasized their desire to foster a culture where mental health issues are met with kindness and support.

Leslie Hamilton, the coroner, did not immediately respond to a request for comment regarding the inquest findings.

This story discusses suicide. If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, please contact the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 or 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

Source: Original article

Archana Puran Singh’s Son Aaryamann Sethi Engaged to Yogita Bihani

Aaryamann Sethi, son of actress Archana Puran Singh, has announced his engagement to Yogita Bihani, sharing details of the romantic proposal on his YouTube vlog.

Aaryamann Sethi, the son of renowned actress Archana Puran Singh, has taken a significant step in his personal life by getting engaged to his girlfriend, Yogita Bihani. The couple’s engagement has captured the attention of fans and followers, especially with the romantic details shared by Aaryamann on his YouTube vlog.

The proposal, described as dreamy, showcased a heartfelt moment between the couple, reflecting their deep connection and commitment to one another. Aaryamann’s vlog provides a glimpse into the special occasion, allowing viewers to experience the joy and excitement of the engagement.

In addition to the proposal, Aaryamann and Yogita have also recently moved into a new home on Madh Island, marking another milestone in their journey together. The couple’s new residence is expected to be a cozy space where they can build their life as an engaged pair.

Fans of Aaryamann and Yogita have expressed their excitement and support for the couple, celebrating their love and the new chapter they are embarking on. As they share their journey through social media, many are eager to see what the future holds for this young couple.

The engagement not only highlights Aaryamann’s personal happiness but also reflects the close-knit family dynamics, with Archana Puran Singh likely playing a supportive role in this new phase of her son’s life.

As the couple prepares for their future together, fans are left anticipating more updates and glimpses into their life as they navigate this exciting time.

According to NDTV, Aaryamann Sethi’s engagement to Yogita Bihani has been a joyful occasion for both families, marking the beginning of a promising journey ahead.

Source: Original article

(15): 17th, May, 2024 set in Mamoudzou, Mayotte, France

« It has come to this time, and you know it. »

« She is still young. She looks this way, and it looks hopeless, but I am not desolate. I know my mother. I know what she is capable of and what she is not. »

« So, will you disagree with what the doctors say and let your mother suffer because you are stubborn? »

« I will do what is best for my mother, and that is all. »

23 March, 2024

His mother made a choking sound. He and his wife were in the dining room picking at the crab with their hands. His mother could not do it herself, and so he took the crab and mashed it into a pulp to feed directly to her. It was common for her to cough while she ate, but this time she made a sound that was stronger than that. It was the sound of someone trying to expel food out of their lungs.

His wife came up from behind and patted her. The choking sounds stopped. He talked with his wife. They wondered if the pieces were too big for her. He tried some of the mush. There were some red wedges that even he could have choked on. He should have been more careful. At his mother’s age, just the simple act of remembering how to swallow was difficult. A lot of people at that age died because their throat muscles gave out.

Father hoped that day would be a good time away from this one. He asked his wife to mash the crab better. Whatever they served for the rest of the meal did not choke his mother. He did see some tears in her eyes, but she teared often. He observed her, tried to talk to her when she seemed in the mood to attempt speech, and when she had finished her meal and her throat was fully settled, he turned on the television, and they watched it together, knowing that he’d have to go to the hospital for work in an hour and be there for the rest of the day.

29 March, 1960

It was a festive night in the town of Mtsamborou. Because of the breaking of the fast and the start of iftaar, everyone was out on the street, getting fried brochette and snacks from the various venders. Boys were out playing ball. The women were in the hovels on each side, sitting on the steps, eating their meals, feeding their children, and partaking in gossip.

The young Abdou Madi was out with his brothers and his mother. His father was on the coast with his friends who were fishermen. It was rare for Abdou to be with his family, but he liked to spend time with them. Abdou was five. He saw the boys playing ball and it filled him with curiosity. He tried to run over to them, but because his sandals were broken, he kept falling over. His brothers laughed at him and called him names rather than help him up. Tired, he decided to go back to his mother.

His mother, who was known in the village as Zakia Madi, was sitting on their stoop. She was by the fire making the pilao that she would serve to him and his brothers and the other men and women of the household.

The pilao had a strong saffron, spicy taste. He would mash the peas with his tongue and swallow the small carrot pieces whole. The chicken pieces sometimes got wedged in between his teeth, and his mother would tell him to keep his mouth shut so as to not show the neighbours how unkempt his mouth was.

But his mother wasn’t that much better when it came to eating. She must have been hungry from the fasting. She took her hand to the plate and stuck as much food as possible into her mouth. Only one in every six hands went to her son.

It never really changed over the years. Whether it was during the breaking of the fast during the holy month or just food that she made regularly in her own home, Zakia Madi was a ravenous eater. She drank little water, but gulped down her food as if it were liquid, and that was probably where Abdou had learned the habit. Years later, Abdou moved to Mamoudzou for work and he learned to eat all sorts of things, from Chinese food commonly sold at nearby restaurants to the French styles of croissants and baked goods that were common in the capital. His mother never had that exposure and stuck to what she ate, but for Abdou, that was a good thing. Abdou became a father, and Abdou became a doctor, and Abdou became a fixture of the capital, but whenever he visited his hometown in the north of the island, it was like time was stuck in place, with his mother always bending over the fire outside of their small little hovel, cloaked in hijab, throwing spices and vegetables bits into the rice she was boiling in her pot.

2 April, 2024

« What is that sound? »

« Do not worry. She makes it when she is eating. »

« It sounds like a crow is dying. »

« Halima, this is the mother of my husband. She is like a grandmother to you. She is our family. Do not say such things. And today is the day of my husband’s birthday. Do you want to come here to tell him your wishes, or are you going to make him sad? »

« I am sorry. »

« Mariame, I am fine. Your niece means well. When people get old, they make different sounds. In time she will come to learn them. Now, Halima, you came here for a reason, I am sure. What is it? »

« Happy birthday, my uncle. »

« Thank you so much, my child. I am happy to see you here. »

« Thank you. Auntie, I have something else to discuss with you. We will go to the other room and speak. »

« Thank you for coming, Halima. »

« Anytime, my uncle. I wish a good day to you. »

« Thank you…now, my mother, do not make such a face. It is my birthday. She means well. She doesn’t know you. You are doing well, my mother. Now, open your mouth. Yes, like that. Good. Will you have some more cake? Eat, if you please. Eat… »

14 May, 2024

It was inevitable that her throat would stop working. She was an old woman, and she had lost most of the mobility in her legs and body. At some point the upper parts were going to go as well. But when Mother called and told Father that his mother, the great dame of the family, Zakia Madi, was blue in the face, and she didn’t know what to do, his first instinct was to think that she was dying.

Father was at work, tending to one of his patients at the main hospital of Mamoudzou. He politely told the nurse who was on staff with him to continue the patient’s check-up, and he rushed to the ER, demanding that they send an ambulance. Father’s house was just on the other side of the hospital. It only took them a few minutes to curve through the snaking small roads of the city centre. Father was happy to see that his mother was alive. She was lying on the floor on her belly, with the caramel colour back to her face. He saw pieces of pilao and chicken on her orange flower dress and her unfastened headscarf on the table, as Mother had probably removed it while trying to get the food out of Koko Madi’s throat.

Koko Madi was too old and frail to be attended to with the Heimlich manoeuvre. The paramedic had to bend her at certain angles to make sure all the food was dislodged. Koko Madi coughed and flailed and ultimately vomited, spilling a yellow gruel of rice and chicken all over the hardwood floor. Koko Madi was put on a stretcher, placed in the ambulance, and sent to the hospital, alongside her son.

The news came after some tests that it was dysphagia. Father knew it had to be something like that, given how often Koko Madi coughed and hacked out whatever they fed her. The doctor who looked over his mother recommended that they insert a tube into her throat so that she could be fed with it. Father thought carefully but ultimately decided against it. His mother loved the taste of pilao too much. She would grow depressed not being able to eat food. Given that she was no longer able to walk or talk, food was the only thing left that she could enjoy, and Father did not want to take that away from her.

Koko Madi left the hospital, and Father told Mother over the phone that she really had to watch her as she was being fed. Mother asked Father what the doctor at the hospital had said, and Father said nothing. He would tell her in some days, when he had the free time to talk properly about his mother’s situation.

15 May, 2024

« Let her eat pilao, please. »

« It is a bad idea. »

« My mother loves pilao. If she were your mother, you would understand. »

« If she were my mother…well, since I take care of her all day long and all week long, it is like she is my mother. That is the truth. It is a bad idea to feed her rice. It will get stuck in her throat. Aren’t you the doctor? Should you not be the one saying this? »

« I suppose… »

« I suppose I have become the doctor of this family now, and the caretaker, and the one you vent all of your frustrations on. And it is unfair since you are not giving any payment. Remember? You are the one who is receiving payment. »

«You are not thinking correctly. I do not want to fight. You are my wife. I love you. But she is not ready… »

« Abdou, my love…the doctor said she needs to have her throat cut open. There needs to be a tube put in. Why did you not tell me? You are also a doctor. You would say something different if she were your patient. I know she is your mother. I know it is hard. But the mother whom you knew is long gone, my love. You have to really think about what is best for her. It has come to this time, and you know it. »

17 May, 2024

Father is not able to come into the room when his mother is having her throat drilled into, but at least he visits after the tube is inserted. He sees the strange little nob at the start of his mother’s chest. He goes immediately to grab her by the hand. She is making an anguished noise. It is like the helpless sound that animals make when they are about to be taken to the slaughterhouse by their owners. Father’s hand tightens around hers, and he feels her hand tighten around his, too, but her sounds do not stop.

The nurse comes to show him how to feed her. Father finds this condescending. He is a doctor. He knows how it is done. Still, at this point, he is the son of a patient, and he does not argue with her. The liquid is poured down the tube, making a strange gurgling sound, like putting oil into a machine.

But unlike a machine, Koko Madi has the most humiliated look in her eyes as she is being fed. She makes a protesting sound, but ultimately quiets when she realises it doesn’t change the outcome.

Father knows that she knows that what she is being subjected to is degrading.

She would have never wanted this. If she were still able to speak, she would have told her son to kill her then and there. Or she would have asked for her death months before, before she progressed to this state. She would have absolutely not wanted to live if she had known that her future would be a mindless body, with none of her organs or muscles working properly.

Though, then again, that is the future for all beings, even Father. What would he choose? Would he want to live on in a state barely considered life, because it was better than being nothing at all, or would he want to have peace, that sense of relief, that knowing of finality, when he could at the very least choose the end?

Father signs some papers to pay for the surgery. He doesn’t let go of his mother’s hand as she sits in her wheelchair. Mother was right when she said it. Father isn’t ready to let go. He wants to be hopeful. He wants to believe that this is the right decision for his mother. He wants to make sure his mother lives and lives and lives, even though his gut instinct tells him that all he has done is prolong the inevitable.

His mother’s hand grows sweaty and she lets it go limp, but he holds on. He tells himself over and over again that he will never let go. This is not one of his patients. This is his mother. His mother never gave up on him no matter what problems he faced. It is his fate, as a son, to do the same, until the end of her life comes.

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