M y cousin MK was never at peace with his stepmother. He maintained that “She is not my mother”.

Mataji, as we addressed her in our large family was, however, was a noble lady to the core who did not discriminate and harboured no prejudice against MK or for that matter anybody else.

But the young boy looked for the slightest excuse to lose his temper with her. In fact, he made a show of it so that others in the family knew about his contempt for his stepmother. He did it even in the presence of outsiders.

MK was older to me by a few years. I had seen his fraying temper from an early age. He always wore an aggressive look and spoke with a heavy voice that frightened children. Even normally when he spoke to some one, his eye balls seemed to pop out. This was one side of his personality. The other was that he was a great lover of vocal music, especially qawwalis. An avid reader of Urdu books and magazines, he had a tremendous sense of wit and subtle humour that he exhibited frequently. MK did his MBBS and started private medical practice.

Once, after examining a patient who sported a bushy moustache, he wrote his name on the prescription as “Moochhad” (a mustachioed person). When the druggist at his clinic called out “Moochhad” to collect his medicines, people sitting there had a hearty laugh while the man concerned blushed.

He liked company and shared jokes with all and sundry. On the other hand, at home, his behaviour was disturbing. While diagnosing MK’s tantrums, elders in the family felt that in the first place, the lad was distraught by his mother’s demise, which created a vacuum in his early days. Then, apparently some evil mind had whispered into his ears that all stepmothers were cruel towards children not born to them. She would take better care of her “own” children and could never be faithful to children from the earlier wife of her husband.

The assertion got etched on the tender mind. And that led to a long spell of unease in an otherwise happy family.

Proclaimed offender

MK’s irksome antics in and outside the house assumed alarming proportions. He was virtually declared a proclaimed offender, which further fuelled his aggressive temperament.

The goings-on pained Mataji more than anybody else. Coaxing and cajoling the errant boy was not bearing any fruit. She decided to bring her stepson on the right track through a soft approach. Silently, Mataji took charge of all the personal needs of MK like laundering his clothes, tidying up his bedroom and ensuring that he had his breakfast and meals on time.

She would herself prepare the breakfast of his choice and serve it to him personally. For the dinner, Mataji would wait for MK to come home. Until then, she would not eat anything — even if it meant waiting until past midnight. As days passed by, reality dawned on him. And the snow started melting.

MK was now a changed man. He reciprocated Mataji’s kind gestures and made it a point to be on time at the dinner table. “Had my mother been alive, she would have looked after me the same way”, MK told himself. The young man suddenly started loving his stepmother.

Years passed by. MK became a father of three. He had mellowed down and was now a very considerate person. Mataji had grown old and was suffering from some health problems. Her doctor stepson took the entire responsibility of providing her with the best possible treatment. When she became confined to bed, MK, who was staying about a kilometre away in a house he had built for himself, made frequent visits to her. As her condition worsened, he started spending maximum time with her — in deep gratitude to her for all the care she had taken of him.

The grand old lady slipped into a coma. The doctor stepson knew her end was near. He stood by her side and sobbed incessantly, asking her to forgive him for his wayward ways and the hurt he had caused her. Perhaps she heard it, so forgave him and then departed.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.