A Girl of Grit

A Girl of Grit(Nina) My mother was one month short of her sixteenth birthday when she married my dad. A smart, handsome Army officer, older by eight years. Not that this fact has anything to do with my story....On the contrary, it was never ever on anybody's mind.
A pampered child in her home; not allowed to do any of the house work, escorted from home to school and back again, and the darling of her grandfather, no one dared even raise their voice with her.
And then she was wedded into this nomadic life of the Army. She had her first two babies by the age of twenty. A young girl, coping with running a new home, alongside rearing two children, is a feat beyond MY imagination! Fathom then what it would have been for this young child herself who had no clue about housekeeping and childcare!
But then she was God's own child. She had a husband who was caring and was her support in every way. Though of a volatile temperament, he was as gentle as could be with her. He got her to complete her formal education and indulged her every wish to learn something new. Whether it was playing an instrument, wielding the paintbrush, riding, swimming, dancing, riding a bicycle, or a scooter. And then, when they could afford it on their paltry Army salary, a car.
She blossomed under his care. Gradually she was coming into her own. The lady was now a fine hostess, an excellent homemaker, a gracious partner for the strapping young officer who was now in commanding positions at work.
In between came the wars. 1962, 1965 and 1971. My dad was always away at the war fronts. In fact, he was a total stranger to me till the end of the 1971 war.
The young lady was now solely in charge of her three small children, all by herself, during the wars.
In the first war, she was pregnant and mentally prepared for a delivery without her husband by her side.
In the second war she was moving home (lock, stock and three kids), managing to board the last train out of strife-hit Jammu with her young brood, reaching the safer haven of New Delhi, getting their school admissions and setting up a new home. Managing everything on her own was now her forte. The girl who was not allowed to lift a finger at her parents' home!
She dealt with all this to the best of her ability, with some intermittent help coming her way from my dad's remote locations or from my paternal and maternal uncles, both based in Delhi.
Life was tough then. No telephones, no luxury of the cooking gas, no help, no personal transport, no husband to share the responsibilities with and God help her! Three kids to handle.
For all this I admire this lady (and not only because she is my mother). For her grit, her sense of worth, and for her great sense of adventure and independence. She imbibed a totally radical and new way of life and was not wary of sailing on uncharted waters! And definitely kudos to the man responsible for it, my father. In the days when it was the norm to dominate and suppress women folk, he was always watching her back while letting her spirit grow with no disciplinarian restraints. The mark of a gentleman.
The true story of a gentleman responsible for the magical transformation of a cloistered girl into a woman of substance. A lady.