Chapter 8: The Legal Battle and the Growing Tensions

The legal battle was taking its toll on my father’s health, and more so on my mother’s mental well-being. It wasn’t just the pressure of the legal proceedings; it was the constant strain of dealing with the external forces that seemed to be conspiring against us. Every day, the weight of it all grew heavier, especially for my mother, who was already carrying the burden of looking after our home, the business, and her family. The toll this legal battle took on her was immeasurable. As the case dragged on, the strain on my father’s physical and emotional health grew more evident, but it was my mother who seemed to suffer in silence.

The Growing Tension and Strained Relationships

As if the legal battle wasn’t enough, there was another layer of stress piling on top of our already fragile family. My father’s health was deteriorating due to the relentless depression he was grappling with, but it wasn’t just his own well-being that was affected. The situation was made worse by the constant rumors being spread by my paternal side of the family—my grandmother, paternal uncle, and aunt. These were people who were supposed to support us, but instead, they became a source of immense tension.

The rumors were as relentless as they were false. They began to spread in our neighborhood and within the extended family, including my mother’s business. The whispers started to grow louder, with some saying that my mother’s business had closed down, while others claimed she was selling substandard, cheap products. To make matters worse, the entrance to our house was shared with my grandmother’s home. This allowed her and the others to frequently interact with customers, some of whom started commenting on my mother’s absence. They would say, “She’s not home right now,” or worse, “The shop isn’t what it used to be.” These words stung deeply.

It was heartbreaking to watch. My mother, who had worked so hard for years to establish her business, was now being publicly undermined by people who were supposed to be in her corner. My father, seeing all this unfold, could only watch in silence. The love he had for my mother, the respect he had for her strength, was evident. Yet, it was as though he was paralyzed by the circumstances that had spiraled out of control.

My father was, at his core, a man who had always placed his family above everything else. He had given his full salary to his mother, helped buy shops for his siblings, and supported his family in every way he could. Yet, it seemed that his mother—my grandmother—couldn’t accept the happiness that my father found in his relationship with my mother. Her jealousy became a poison that slowly seeped into every aspect of our lives. It was as if she couldn’t bear to see my father’s happiness, not when it was rooted in a marriage he had chosen, a life he had built with my mother.

The Demonic Reality: Jealousy and Hatred

At that time, I didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation. I was too young, too caught up in the chaos, to see the underlying causes of the tension. But as I look back now, I realize something that disturbs me deeply: the complex dynamics between mothers and sons in certain families, particularly in the context of Indian culture. There is a strange phenomenon where some mothers, despite being loving, are consumed by an inexplicable jealousy when they see their sons happy with another woman.

It's hard to put into words, but the truth is undeniable. A mother who has always been a son's most trusted companion, his first love, suddenly finds herself at odds when he finds someone else to love. This jealousy can turn a mother's heart cold, and in some cases, as I witnessed, she becomes the biggest obstacle to her own son's happiness. This might be a painful truth for some to hear, especially for mothers, but it is one I feel needs to be acknowledged. A mother's love for her son should never morph into a destructive force, yet that was what seemed to happen in our case.

I sometimes wonder now, as a mother myself to two sons, if I would one day face the same challenge. Would I be able to support my sons in their marriages, their happiness with another woman? Or would the same toxic emotions take root in me? It’s a fear that nags at me. But then, I remind myself that love should not be possessive. Love should be about giving and not controlling.

Perhaps, at some level, my father understood this same conflict. Maybe that’s why his depression worsened as he saw his mother, the woman who had once been his closest ally, become the source of his suffering. His internal conflict must have been immense. On one hand, he was bound by duty to his family, and on the other, he was torn between the love and respect for the woman he had chosen as his life partner.

My Father’s Health: Sleeping Away the Pain

With each passing day, my father’s mental health continued to deteriorate. He had always been a hardworking man, but now he found himself trapped in an emotional quagmire. The depression grew deeper, the sadness heavier. He returned to his job at the railway but soon fell into a routine of exhaustion. Every evening when he came home around 6 p.m., he would immediately fall asleep. He would sleep through the evening until dinner was ready, only to wake up, eat, and then fall asleep again. It was a vicious cycle, one that seemed impossible to break.

My mother, ever the caretaker, tried everything she could to break this cycle. She urged him not to sleep so much, not to retreat into his shell. But my father’s depression had taken root so deeply that even her pleas couldn’t rouse him. Sundays were the worst. He would sleep the entire day away, only waking up to eat dinner. The absence of joy in his life was palpable. I could see it in the way he barely spoke, the way he shuffled around the house, his eyes distant, lost in thoughts that I couldn’t understand.

It was heartbreaking to witness. My mother’s frustration grew. She didn’t know how to help him anymore. She had tried everything—counseling, medication, love, and patience—but none of it seemed to make a difference. It was as if my father had become a shell of the man he once was, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring him back.

A New Development: Dr. Keshav Ram’s Departure

Then came the news that shook us all. Dr. Keshav Ram, the psychiatrist who had been helping my father navigate his depression, informed us that he had received a job and study offer from America. He would be leaving for the next two years. To us, this was both a shock and a blow. Dr. Keshav Ram had been a guiding light in the darkness. His words had always reassured us. He made us believe that there was hope, that my father could recover, that we could heal as a family.

“Depression is not a disease,” Dr. Keshav Ram had told us repeatedly, “It’s a state of mind. And the mind can always be healed.” His optimism had been a balm to our weary souls, but now, as he prepared to leave, we felt the weight of that optimism slip away. How could we move forward without him? How would my father cope with the loss of his trusted doctor? The thought of finding someone else to help seemed daunting, especially since we lived in a small city where psychiatry was still a relatively underdeveloped field. Mental health care was not something most people talked about, let alone sought help for.

At that time, people were still beginning to understand that psychological illness was as real as physical illness. It was a period when the idea of mental health care was just starting to gain acceptance. People still associated depression with weakness or, worse, insanity. This stigma made it difficult for families like ours to seek the help we needed. The thought of starting over with a new doctor was overwhelming. How would we find someone who could help my father the way Dr. Keshav Ram had?

The Strain of Constant Change

With the departure of Dr. Keshav Ram, my mother’s anxiety deepened. She knew how important it was for my father to continue his treatment, but finding the right doctor in our small town seemed impossible. And so, once again, we found ourselves grappling with uncertainty. My mother tried to reassure my father, telling him that everything would be okay, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. She was scared. We were all scared.

As days passed, the weight of the situation continued to press on my father. The legal case was still ongoing, and though he had returned to work, he was never the same. He was a man broken by the system he had trusted, by the family that should have supported him, and by the pressures of life that never seemed to let up. He began to question everything. Was honesty truly the best policy, or had he been naive to believe in it? The depression lingered, clouding his every thought.

In the meantime, my mother’s role became even more difficult. She had to maintain a façade of normalcy while internally battling her own fears and uncertainties. Her business, which had once flourished, was now barely running. The shop was no longer the vibrant place it once had been. The customers, the ones who once came to her for advice and bought the finest products, were now hesitant. The rumors had done their damage, and my mother, despite her best efforts, could do little to stop it.

The Ongoing Struggle: A Family in Crisis

The tension in our home was palpable. My father continued to sleep his days away, my mother continued to worry, and I was caught somewhere in between, feeling helpless. It was as though we were all living in a haze, unable to break free from the shadows of our past. But even in the midst of all this turmoil, there was one thing that remained constant: my mother’s love for my father. It was that love, that unwavering dedication, that kept us all going. But would it be enough to pull us through? Would we ever find the light again?

As we struggled to pick up the pieces of our broken lives, I began to understand that the journey of healing was not a linear one. There would be setbacks, failures, and moments of despair. But there would also be moments of strength, of love, and of resilience. The path was long, and the road ahead uncertain, but we were a family, and that was something no amount of pain could take away from us.

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sleepless for 20 years