McKeown Mums and Earth Mothers

A summer breeze has made the night cool. But I’m tossing, sleepless, over the pillows.

I hear the familiar flapping of wings by the window above my bed.  He parts the drapes to hover over my head.

“It’s a pretty moon up there”, he points up to a silver disc shimmering in the dark sky. 

“What’s with my heart?  It’s stone-cold,” I say.

“Here, let me show you how I can turn it warm”, says the Owl, splaying a cold claw over my bosom.

I shudder, slapping it away. “Sonofabitch”, I hiss. 

“Nothing against my mother.It’s sacriligious”, he says, turning his icy stare on me.

I sneer: “Mum’s a bad word these days. Atleast in London.Been there lately?”

“Fiona McKeown is a hippie. She didn’t object to her daughter Scarlett Keeling take to drugs or be unsupervised, because like all mothers she was sharing what gave her most happiness with her offspring-drugs and freedom. Many commentators in the media are accusing her of being a negligent mother because as one who pledged her life to an  alternative lifestyle she abjured performing a mother’s primary duties of raising healthy children, cultivating clean habits and regular manners and teaching her children virtues of prudence and caution”, he answers, nibbling a worm with his beak.

“In a perfect world there would be no rapes;and mothers can freely allow their teen daughters under the care of  strange men in foreign lands and chase reef as they pleased and all mothers would have no issues with their children,” I say.

“On the other edge there are mothers who are ruled by caution, by a protectiveness that borders on hysteria that lasts well even after their children have matured into adults”, he cackles.  

“A pinkie feminist is arguing that if McKeown is accused of being a bad mum with a violent and dodgy past, spawning a brood that she is not sending to school and treating them like adults and not playing the predominant mother’s duty of raising children by protecting and caring, we ought to accuse the same of those mothers who raised their sons to be rapists and peddlers who drugged and assaulted Scarlett Keeling”, I say.  

“What’s the point here? That rapists and felons must be judged by their mothers only? That good mothers don’t have daughters molested? That all worthless and evil people have lousy mothers? Silly!” he says, swallowing his feed.

“Huh? So we don’t drag Bush’s mother in here? Aaron’s matron? Modi’s Ma?”    

“A mother is a wonderful vitamin pill. She can give energy, health and help boost immunity, but she cannot help cure ailments that fester within”, he says. “There are good mothers and bad mothers. But it’s the lot of mothers to toil, to care, to protect and nuture and raise good children. But laying evil acts and all wrongs in men on bad mothers is facile”.

“Freud wouldn’t agree”, I tell him. ”The most lasting impression on a person is that of the mother’s. Both her biological errors and sociological ones are responsible for upbringing her offpsring for the better or for the worse, he says”, I argue.

“Well then, what’s the way out?” he asks.

“I can’t see one, atleast for myself.  By being careless and reckless or lazy, a woman allows herself to be judged as a bad McKeown mum, leading to worse tragedies to befall upon her children;or she is the Earth Mother, a goddess who is fierce, capable, successful and who puts her self above her children, cleaving her heart and working herself to the bone to nurture her children, even if she’s unsure of their welfare or how they’ll turn out”.

“A Mother India?”the Owl chuckles.

“Yeah, right. Isn’t it ironic that the cult film was led by an actress whose son is wayward and reckless, incapable of sane decisions and sound judgment?” I ask. ”If she had lived on, would her son been any different?” I wonder.

“Nargis, the mother might not have stopped Sanjay Dutt’s misdemeanours;but she would have given him a hellavua lot of guilt by playing the martyr”.

“Is there no way out? A good mother must be a martyr, a guilty goodness to lead a child from waywardness to allow him to be a better self? As Bubli told Bunty: is there no way out of the burden of noble goodness, decency or excessive sympathy to play a mother?”     

“It’s the only way that will ease any guilt off a mother’s mind. No mother gets it right all the way. Her wrongs leave their scars, just as her rights embellish her offspring’s heart and mind. A failed mother bleeds her offspring to death;a noble one bleeds herself to release her goodness”.

“And what of the wronged mother?”

“Sugar, all mothers must drag a cross over their bloody shoulders, like Mother India. It’s their lot to toil with firm hope that their children will see a better morrow when they are not around”, he says.

“Even those mothers who are left with incapable material?” I ask.

“Especially those who are thrown a different challenge. They have to labour more despite the fatigue of failure, the weariness of the enfeebled and the disconcerting probability that their hardships may not yield popular results, raise regular adults or promise their children a good future long after they’re gone”, he counsels.

“Why do some mothers have it made and some don’t?” I want to know.

“Too bad, too late, and tough luck”, he gives it straight to me.

“So what’s the road to take?” I want to know. 

“A good mother will never give up;her devotion to her child’s welfare remains unfaltering. Now get that cross on your back, drive that nail in and march on. Forbearance, fortitude and resilience are a mother’s tools”, he says, poised to soar.

“And where are you off to, my old bird?” I ask.

“My mother raised me well to be a non-believing Christian and I can’t miss her Easter Sunday lunch for anything in the world”, he says, disappearing into the dark skies.