I Look in the Mirror, by Madhumita Paul, Kolkata
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Born and raised in Belgharia and Kolkata and currently residing in Kalyani, West Bengal, Madhumita is a danseuse and scholar.
One morning at around 7 a.m., as I was relishing my tea, my colleague Shishupal called me from the village of Purulia.
He said, “Didi, please help me, we are hungry, please send some money. “
He told me that everything had closed, their cultural program had stopped.
“What can we eat? How can we survive?” he wondered.
After hanging up the phone, I was crying loudly.
My son Rivu came to me and asked, “What’s happening, mammam?”
When I told him, he said, “If you do not help uncle, I can’t stand it.”
He yelled it again and again: “I can’t stand it.”
When the lockdown began, my first call to duty came in the form of Rivu. Being a working mother with the world as a stage has its limitations, one being the impossibility of spending precious time with him. While my career was put on hold, my journey as a mother took a definitive turn.
I discovered many aspects of my son, and he of me. We had our own exchange of ideas, and I helped him develop new skills and explore his creativity. Managing our new life, remaining frugal, was challenging, but I was reminded of how self-sufficient I can be. It taught me to eliminate what I don’t need. So as Rivu continued to plead, I knew that even though we did not have much, I had to help.
I had grown up with a passion for dance. I found my liberty in the form of Chaau, and a oneness with dancers living in the remotest part of Purulia, who only knew how to express themselves through their Chaau moves. Years ago, I braved the obvious resistance of my family, leaving them for days at a time to bring forth the expertise of these dancers. Now, the lockdown had thrown me inside my home, and them inside theirs.
The mother in me woke up with a jolt. I started teaching dance classes online, literally begging one and all to be liberal with their wallets in exchange for my art. I raised as much as I could, making hungry faces smile again. Food for their stomachs was food for my soul.
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(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held October 16, 2020.)
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