The Interview

Mr. Malik got married in 1969 and was blessed with a daughter the following year. His mother thought it was a shame, a disgrace and entirely the fault of his son’s wife, who had seemed ‘no good’ from the ‘very beginning’. Mr. Malik was a reasonably well-educated man but he was also a devoted son to a very authoritarian mother. He took to chastising his wife in his mother's presence but would later try to set things right by telling his wife that ‘patience is a virtue.’
Because of her mother-in-law’s overt display of contempt for her and her daughter, Mrs. Malik felt alienated, unjustly targeted and unhappy with her situation. She suffered three miscarriages and subsequent phases of prolonged depression; by the end of her fifth year of marriage, she could hardly be recognized as the girl from her wedding photos.

By the time we got to speak to Mr. Malik, his daughter had been dead for two years. She had committed suicide by leaping out of her bedroom window where she had been kept captive, for most of the last three years of her life, owing to her ‘illness.’ Mrs. Malik refused to give an interview with her husband and mother-in-law but was available to us separately. The father and grandmother were more than willing to explain the situation as they saw it.

Malik: I don’t know –she was rather odd, maybe she was, perhaps delusional. Even as a child she expected too much out of life. We all tried to explain to her…certain things. Well, certainly there’s a way to do everything and she was never really properly interested in things a girl ought to be. But, of course, it got worse as her illness progressed.

Grandmother: indeed, we all know our place in society…it’s what maintains the delicate fabric of society. You can’t expect to live in society like an anarchist! I clearly remember that in spite of all our best efforts she would not listen to reason. The influence of the mother was not a positive one, I believe, it aggravated the problem. Genetics, you see, plays a vital role…I blame myself…I was too accepting; had I been more selective, it would never have happened. You can’t mix certain types of blood.

Malik: what mother means to say is that we tried our best to provide a good home to my child, of course; after all, I was her father and loved her. I knew what was best for her. But genetic predispositions can’t be countered with love and affection…

Grandmother: Stamps! She wanted to collect stamps! What sort of child does that? She had no regard for her elders. If we forbade her to do something, it was for her own good. Stamp collection is a useless waste of time…we did not want a potential wastrel in our house. My son can sometimes be a little accommodating; he was always too soft. Do you remember when she came home with that filthy animal?

Malik: yes…the dog…it was rather shocking. Mother is allergic you see. Dogs and cats and all such creatures…

Grandmother: of course I had no choice but to have her watch it put to sleep. A child needs to be disciplined. If we, the establishment, don’t mold the shape of the future, why this country would be desecrated by anarchists running amok!

Malik: I suppose it was a bit extreme, in some ways, but she was a happy child. Naturally, with all comforts provided for. School was out of the question, of course. Mother has always felt that a gentlewoman must be home tutored.

Grandmother: yes it is rather disgraceful to see how girls nowadays seem not to care about such things. In my day, it was unheard of. My master sahib used to sit at a distance of five feet behind a veil. Appropriate and moral, that was the way to bring up a girl and my son and I never hesitated when it came to my grand daughter’s education. It is extremely important. After all, not even China is too far in the path to knowledge.

Malik: she grew somewhat subdued by the time she was fifteen. A bit distant I would say. She seemed to have lost interest in any of the family activities.

Grandmother: utterly spoiled and a renegade. She lacked proper emotions. It’s the genetics at play as I pointed out earlier. You can’t blame the child if the mother is at fault. The child did not understand the concept of respect. Remember how she would move about with blank eyes? Scaring all potential suitors away!

Malik: mother believes in early marriages…

Grandmother: well yes. We will not have hysteria in this house! It’s a known fact…you can’t have a grown girl in the house without inviting hysteria. Of course, her illness crept up out of the blue and took us all by surprise. A full year in and out of the hospital, the girl drove us all crazy with fear; I could practically hear the neighbors talk.

Malik: and then she jumped…

Grandmother: yes.

Mother: my husband was too weak willed. My child was not as fortunate as I was; at least I had spent my youth in a normal house-hold. They never allowed…well she never allowed her breathing space. The girl was inherently freedom-loving, and wanted independence. What can I say? How can I explain how they were? It’s impossible to set into words a lifetime of discouragement. I mean her father would not touch her if his mother were present. The child naturally realized that his love was conditional, that he was not her ideal man. It is always disheartening to know your father lives in constant fear. There was nothing ‘wrong’ with her; there was no ‘illness’. No schizophrenia or anything, she was perfectly fine. She wanted to be a doctor and a lawyer just like everybody else. She was born, given a name and then she died. Sometimes, all you get to choose is how you die. Sometimes that’s the only thing people can’t take away from you. I don’t justify what she did, of course, but I understand it.

Would I blame him? Yes and no. Do I blame his mother? Yes and no. who knows what her parents did to her? I’m not even bitter. My child taught me something valuable…something that finally allowed me to leave that horrible house and get a life. I may have to spend hours at work horribly underpaid but it’s still better than that life. Yes that’s what I learned. You only live once and a life without freedom: worse than death. God have mercy on her soul.