Skip to main content

Managing Pain

Watched the movie I Killed My Mother recently and it was a memorable experience. Not every parent is cut out to be be one and even when they are, they often fail to perform to the expectations of the child. They almost always fail to meet their own standards if they are being honest with themselves, Such is the tragedy of parenthood to balance out all its joys and rewards. 

Chantal in this movie was never cut out for motherhood and then she is dealt a bad hand in life forcing her to be a single-mom to a son who at the time of telling the story is moody teen and has a boyfriend. It's a combination that would daunt the best mothers out there but it completely routs Chantal. She copes the best she can, escapes when she can't solve and resolve problems. Her coping strategies make difficult conditions in her relationship with her son absolutely unbearable for him. He acts out in response.

The struggle to love the mother when it is just about impossible to love her, when the communication is irretrievably broken are depicted with great sensitivity. The conflict between Chantal and her son plays out in mundane ways in every mother-child relationship no matter how wonderful the mother or how docile the child. There is a phase of hate that must come to pass, it may vary in degree and manifestation but it is what it takes to free the child from the mother to become their own person. In the best circumstances, it is expressed in a muted way for a short period of time but at the far end of the spectrum the outcomes could be pretty tragic. 

The matricide reference is allegorical but the tension is palpable throughout the movie. Chantal is largely expressionless in the face of the onslaught from her sun and she copes by being angry, snarky and friendly in random order almost to keep him alert. As an outsider looking into the mother-son relationship, it is much easier to be sympathetic to the son than to the cold and manipulative mother. But as we know in real-life the truth is never so black and white. While Chantal exudes an insufferable aura, she has a story too - she is a product of her circumstances and may be deserving of latitude and consideration. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques