Hansa-ben - Jhansi Ki Rani

Hansa Ben - (06/07/1938 - 13/09/2017)

Jhansi ki Rani - Iron Lady – that was how she was known to friends and family. What a zest for life, this short woman barely 5 feet tall. The word “tired” didn’t exist in her dictionary. "I don't know what's wrong with you all" she would tell us when at the end of the day we would be ready to call it a day - she would be full of energy and ready to go on.

She was the embodiment of courage. She was the rock of Gibraltar for my father - supporting him through his tumultuous career years as he setup a pharmaceutical business against all odds. An unlikely pair my parents - my father was from a humble background from Goa, who moved to Bombay as a teacher with little but an enormous hunger to succeed - my mother was the daughter of a well to do Jain family in Bombay. If you drew a table with their names on it - it would be a table of opposites: he was tall, she was short:  he was a man of the heart, she of the head; he needed fish every day, she was a strict vegetarian; he was financially struggling, she was well off…. and yet, thanks to their unlikely union, well... here I am.

My mother was born fearless. In school she fought off those who bullied her elder sisters, she did the unthinkable by eloping with my father at a time when even one of those differences would be enough to kill the marriage. She paid a heavy price - she was disowned by her family for a decade! When my father's business began to finally pick up she would drive him around - oddly my father never drove a car in his entire life. My mother whose feet could barely reach the pedals of the bigger cars of those years would confidently sit on a cushion... As age progressed and her eyesight and hearing dimmed considerably, her confidence remained undiminished. Her courage was rooted in her spiritual belief - the immortality of the soul. If you asked her how she was even in the midst of her greatest trials, she would inevitably reply “I’m fine”.

I have never seen anyone with her tolerance for pain. She never complained even when she was in great pain. She had no fear of death. She was fanatical about her daily routine of prayers. She was able to sit for long periods of meditation. Every Saturday she would visit the Jain temple (Derasar) and Hanuman Mandir, where she made it a point to feed the cows and ants - yes, ants!  

Her final act of courage, one that will be etched in my memory for ever happened in the ICU a few weeks ago. She had been admitted to the hospital for a bad chest congestion that had put a considerable strain on her already weak heart. After a week of treatment - ICU and room, she was finally discharged. Dressed in her home clothes, we were waiting for our car to reach the hospital. It was delayed. This was the day of the terrible Mumbai flood. My car was stuck at Worli and couldn't get to us. As we waited impatiently, discharge papers all done, she had a cardiac arrest before my very eyes in the room. The emergency staff rushed to administer CPR. I was asked to step out and the doctor came to me a few moments later and told me that with her heart condition and age, there was no hope....but the Jhansi ki Rani would have none of it. The doctors found a pulse, rushed her back to the ICU and put her on the ventilator. When in 2 days she miraculously came off the ventilator and was in full consciousness, I was in for a rude shock. As I walked into the ICU, she glared at me furiously, "hemu, WHY did you bring me back? Take me home now! You are afraid of a bit of rain!?" I said "Mamma, do you even know what happened to you? And it was one of the worst floods ever!" I was like a little child being chastised by his mother. But this time I was glad for it. "I want to go home" she repeated again and again. And finally a week later, we brought her home. How happy she was. Very weak but happy. She had a glow on her face. I often remarked about this to others - she looked so beautiful the last few weeks. 

And then a week later, she passed on peacefully in her sleep. The doctor had warned that with her heart condition, it could be anytime, but we had hoped the fighter in her would give us a few more years. But it was not to be. Condolences poured in  and the recurring theme was "What a zest for life”, “what a gracious and courageous woman", “always smiling”... That was my mother. Hansaben.