Dear Ma,

I wish we had gotten the time to have this conversation face-to-face, but you were in a hurry to leave us ASAP. Now, when I think in retrospect, it feels like you were waiting to go. Perhaps you were too tired, exhausted, and emotionally drained to carry the load of life any longer. I understand, Ma—your life was not easy.

You were born right before the Partition and had to watch your family leave their ancestral home in Mymensingh and settle in a tiny house with walls whose plaster had fallen off, exposing the bricks underneath. In that tiny home, so many of you lived. Your mother couldn’t take the trauma of Partition, the pain of leaving her home, and the pressure of giving birth to nine children—so she died of anemia. Can you imagine? Back in those days, women died from anemia—a disease so easily treatable now.

Losing your mom at such an early age was not easy. You hardly had any memory of her. You didn’t remember her face. I never heard you speak of her or recall any memories. She had simply faded from your life. Not having a mom meant you grew up without a proper role model of what a mother should be. This probably impacted your parenting later in life. You grew up just biologically—as a thumb rule of nature—without any real nurturing. You kept craving love, especially a mother’s love, but never received it.

The truth is, no matter how hard you try, nobody can replace your Ma. In fact, I also tried searching for a mother’s love after you were gone. However, I was a bit lucky. After a while, I wasn’t looking for a mother to replace you and pamper me—I was looking for another human being with whom I could truly connect. That’s where I struck gold.

I met so many wonderful women in my life: my friends’ moms, elderly colleagues, neighbor aunties, your sisters, and even random women—from all of them, I found glimpses of motherly love. None of them could replace you as my mother, but they showed me so many different aspects of motherhood. When I became a mother myself, I had a huge canvas and a colorful palette to paint my own image of what a mother could be.

A mother is not a fixed role. There is no perfect mother. In each imperfection, a new aspect of motherhood unfolds—and that is the beauty of this journey. While some moms love to scold their kids at the drop of a hat, another mom might want to party with her child. And we are nobody to judge either of them.

Motherhood became overwhelming for you because you were like an architect who had to build a house without a blueprint. You didn’t know what to do or how to do it. The mistake you made was that, instead of approaching motherhood authentically and instinctively, you started looking for a roadmap in all the wrong places. You were a nervous mother who wanted to raise her child exactly the way “society” would approve. This constant need for validation must have been exhausting.

However, you were not alone. Your entire generation was like this. At least you had the excuse of not having a mother to look up to. But even those who did were no different. It takes immense courage to support your child against society. It’s a difficult journey—but one worth taking. If you constantly waste your energy seeking approval from “chaar log,” you end up digging your own grave.

Trying to be “nice” and “good” is exhausting. And nobody will ever completely approve of what you do. No matter what, people will always judge you—even if you are Mother Teresa or Florence Nightingale. I wish you hadn’t been so good to everyone all the time. I wish you had rebelled once in a while. It’s fun being a rebel. It’s liberating.

Real happiness comes when you do the things that make you happy. Charity, philanthropy, living for others—yes, these are good. That’s what every religion teaches. But religion also says, “Charity begins at home.” It’s important to think about your own happiness too.

You lived a selfless life, always trying to please others. You got hurt when your efforts weren’t appreciated or acknowledged. But let me tell you: had you just not given a F**K, it would have brought you so much more peace. It is impossible to please everyone. You craved to be a “good girl” all your life—but that is what killed you.

It is liberating to be a “bad girl.” Who cares what your fifth cousin thinks? Who cares what your neighbor feels about you? Just ignore them and focus on your own life.

If there is an afterlife and I get to meet you, the only thing I would like to tell you is:

“Ma, I wish you had lived for yourself. I wish you had enjoyed your life. I wish you had tried to fulfill your dreams instead of worrying about log kya kahenge?”

Joining Vinitha‘s two hundred and fifty sixth edition of Fiction Monday with the word prompt HURRY.