“I haven’t got a father.”
She said and took a pause to
watch over her friend’s face.
“But thank you. You need not
pity me.”
She stressed the thank-you part
as if she does not care a hoot about those two words. She did not want the
friend to respond either. Like in a monologue she continued.
“I have no father, because my
mother chose not to have one.”
There was a pause, once again.
“She was lesbian.”
She wanted the pause to give
emphasis to her own statement.
“I have two mothers. And I don’t
think I will ever need a father. You may be wondering about my biological
father though.”
She took a sip before resuming.
She saw her friend’s nod as an approval.
“He should be somewhere. But a
medical student for sure. My mothers wanted to have medical student genes in
me, because they are doctors too.”
She smiled with her friend. She
was relieved. She felt relieved because she could come out with some heavy
burden. She could not get herself to come out with this burden of truth
anywhere else. After all, this is Colombo , not
some Las Vegas .
They won’t accept any hippie culture down here.
She thought of her mothers. Why
should she call them, when she could conveniently – and confidently – call them
mothers? Her mothers are brave. They are brave not to care a hoot about what
others would think of them. But will she have the same courage? Isn’t it a bit
unfair by her for having to undergo all this stigma burden?
Her lifestyle was not accepted
among her relatives. In fact, she had no relatives. No relatives would welcome
either her or mothers.
