Indian mothers aren’t always sacred. Sometimes, they are toxic
After my dad passed away, things between us have spiralled
At 28, I still live with my mother. While that’s very common in Indian culture, I get this strong urge to move out because I am at a phase in life where I can probably live more peacefully with a stranger than with my own mother. These days, we can barely have a conversation without fighting. We may start with the weather, but somehow end up discussing how my choice of partner is terrible, how I’ve gained weight, or even how my breathing is too loud. And yet, here I am, because my mother says moving out would be abandoning her.
My mother and I never got along. At 16, my mom once spotted me bunking class and hanging out with my friends. When I got home, she called me a disgrace, as if I had been peddling drugs on the street. She grounded me for an entire week (which was counterproductive because I missed more classes then). But my dad, the most patient man ever, kept us calm. He’d bring us together, stop our fights from escalating, and care for us both. My mother always had a lot of angst in her and a need for control. She had her reasons, her experiences that made her like that. But she always needed to channel this energy somewhere. Mostly, it was towards her husband, and sometimes me. It could be because we disagreed with her opinions, made a unilateral decision about our own lives, or didn’t help her with something.
After he passed away in 2023, all the rage and need for control my mom carries, are now directed solely at me. It feels like being shot by a Nerf gun one moment and a cannon the next.
We both need someone to rely on
When my dad was alive, my mother depended on him for everything. If she had a cheque to deposit, my dad would do it. If she needed flight or movie tickets booked, he handled it. Something had to be picked up? My father was there. He was an incredible husband to her. They married for love, despite my grandfather’s disapproval, and my dad endured that coldness from him his entire life. But I can’t deny it, my parents had love, loyalty, and laughter. They’d travel together, go out on movie dates, and have their favourite coconut rum cocktails on cold nights. He never said no to my mom, never fought with her, and even when she yelled, he kept the calm of a monk. I’m happy that she had a partner who was able to love her the way she wanted, but I also feel she never outgrew her entitlement. Now that he’s gone, the onus to be at her beck and call has shifted to me. With no siblings, I’m alone in this.
I understand that over time she got used to relying on someone and doesn’t want to face the change dad’s passing brought to our lives. But my mother hasn’t been sheltered all her life. At 58-years-old she is smart, fierce and works as a fashion stylist, who is perfectly capable of communicating, using Google Maps, and getting things done on her own. She’s a Type A personality who doesn’t need rescuing.
On weekdays, she scouts fabrics, bargains hard, and ensures her tailor delivers outfits on time. On weekends, when I’m home, she suddenly needs help with everything. She cannot go to the dyeing guy alone. She cannot go to the bank by herself. And if I refuse her last-minute demands, I’m branded a bad daughter. I don’t mind helping when she truly needs it. Like my dad, most of the time I avoid confrontation and just agree to help, but there are times I’ve pushed back when I genuinely couldn’t cancel my plans. In those moments, she calls me selfish and ungrateful, as if I owe her every minute of my life. And yet, when she has plans, she’s out the door in record time, with barely a goodbye.
This has left me feeling like my life isn’t my own. Like I’ve borrowed what she owns. “I am your mother,” she reminds me whenever I’m not at her disposal.
I’m not only exhausted—working weekdays for my company and weekends for my mother—but also confused. Is she doing this because she’s overwhelmed after dad’s death and her tough exterior won’t let her show vulnerability? I have tried speaking to her about this, but my mother lacks self-awareness. She dismisses my worries by saying, “Don’t talk nonsense” or asking if my boyfriend is feeding such thoughts into my head. Does she just want to spend more time with me, or is she afraid of losing me, too? I think about it a lot, but I get no answers.
Eventually, I’m left frustrated and find it hard to empathise. After all, she’s grieving the loss of a partner but aren’t I grieving the loss of a parent, too? With my mother being so dependent on me, whom do I have to rely on? Life changed so much for me. Sometimes when I am in the rickshaw alone, from the station to home, I think about the times my dad would come to pick me up when I got late at work. Now, I am not just being there for myself but also for my mother. And sometimes, I wish for her to empathise with me as well. I am expected to become my father when all I need right now is a parent.
Is my mother rage-baiting me?
Growing up, my mother stopped me from having chips and fried food. While I know it was for my own good, she still continues to do it. I often lie to her if I’ve eaten a vada pav or buttery dosa, possibly out of habit and a little because I don’t like confrontation. But most importantly, it’s because she’ll immediately start scrutinising my body.
If I go out with friends, she calls to ask what I ate. I know mothers show their love through caring about what you eat. But my mother doesn’t know how to express that concern without shredding every bit of confidence in me. “All that cheese is going straight to your hips.” “That beer is giving you a belly.” She’s made herself the supervisor of my weight. When I try to ignore these comments, she keeps increasing the intensity to get a reaction out of me, mimicking her fights with my dad, except my patience is not as long as his. “Beta, you’ve gained a lot of weight. Who will marry you if you become so fat?” she’d say, until I found a boyfriend.
We’ve been in a relationship for more than two years now, and we want to get married in a year or so. This man is a walking green flag, who stood by me when my dad passed away, who has been my strength and my calm ever since. My friends love him, too. But my mom, who has never met him, has already pegged him as the villain who is not rich enough, not ambitious enough, and certainly not her choice. She says she could find me a diamond merchant, as if I’m on Indian Matchmaking and she’s Sima Taparia herself. She claims he’s “after my wealth”. This is laughable, considering our “wealth” barely covers family expenses. She speaks ill of him in front of me and worse, behind my back. She even calls my friends to ask them to help break us up. They like him and want no part of it.
Her aim is to get a reaction out of me, get us in a fight, and then label me aggressive. One day, out of nowhere, she tells me, “If you ever plan to harm yourself if I don’t let you marry your boyfriend, please let me know so I can submit a letter saying I have nothing to do with this.” When she is angry, she gets intimidating, looking at me with big eyes, yelling at the top of her voice, and making aggressive hand gestures. There were times when she tried to slap me, but I was able to defend myself. And after all this, she plays the victim, saying how her daughter is so aggressive, all because I am fighting for my agency.
I hate to admit it, but her taunts about the failure of my relationship and financial struggles sometimes make me doubt myself. Does love fly out the window when financial troubles hit home? But after speaking with my boyfriend and discussing our finances, I have realised that with our combined income, we should be fine. He assures me that our relationship will be just fine.
But my mother’s words impact me, even when I don’t want them to. When she says a dress makes my arms look fat or my breasts look too big, I feel self-conscious. When I refuse her plans and decisions, part of me feels guilty.
My mother needs to heal
There’s a line she repeats like gospel: “I am your mother. I should decide who you marry.” She delivers it with the same moral certainty as Amrish Puri saying, “Ja Simran, jee le apni zindagi,” except in my case it’s, “No Simran, marry the man I pick.”
After overthinking a lot, I’ve realised it’s not about him. It’s about me. If I marry him—or anyone else—I won’t be her 24/7 companion. I won’t be the one filling her weekends, running errands, and listening to complaints. She doesn’t just fear losing me; she fears losing control over me.
I have grown up being told that she knows what’s best for me. And as an adult, I found myself paralysed when making decisions of my own. Even while shopping, I’d find myself sending her images and asking her what I should buy because I was always told that she’d be the one to take a call. On top of that, her constant criticism of my choices has made me doubt my own abilities. As an adult, I realised this and started making decisions of my own. Even if I make mistakes, I want to be able to do that.
She says she knows what’s best for me. But often “the best” is just a disguise for control. I do love my mother, and I want us to have a better relationship. I have been taking therapy to deal with my grief and conflicts with my mother. And I strongly feel if she does too, it can give our relationship another chance. But with her refusing therapy because she’s “too strong for it,” I feel helpless. I don’t know where this is going, but right now, it’s a hard pill to swallow: my mother doesn’t want me to be happy unless it’s on her terms.
As told to Akanksha Narang
