The healing touch of mother’s love

Shahu Kamble from Mulshi taluka, Pune, sings about being hurt by a friend and turning to her family, especially her mother, for emotional support and sustenance

What does a woman do when a friend betrays her trust and breaks her heart? A few decades ago, if she were from rural Maharashtra, her emotional response to being betrayed by a confidant would have been transformed into a few ovi. She would have sung those couplets while sitting at the grindmill and crushing the day’s share of grains. This is exactly what Shahu Kamble did.

The late Shahubai sang 26 songs to express the painful interactions of a woman with a neighbour who is also her friend. In the first of these couplets, all of which were set to tune by Shahubai, she says:

It wasn’t just betrayal, but the friend had uttered sharp words that pierced the singer’s heart and drove her to tears all day and night. The woman tells the neighbour how she feels:

When the neighbour flaunts gold ornaments on her neck and arms, the singer says that her son and daughter are brighter than the gold to her, and more precious. The couplet suggests that the strain in the friendship is perhaps due to a wealth disparity between them.

Although the singer tells herself not to expect anything from others, she discloses that her own mother is the only person in the world on whom she can depend on completely. The ocean leaves her thirsty, she says, but her mother is like the water of River Ganga, descending from heaven. She goes on to compare her mother’s generosity to an overflowing River Chandrabhaga. The river, in Maharashtra’s Solapur district, is better known as Bhima. It is immortalised as a ‘destroyer of sins’ by the Bhakti poet, Sant Eknath, in ‘ Mazhe maher pandhari ,’ his popular abhanga , or devotional poem.

The singer’s feelings of love and her complete trust in her mother are reinforced in the last 10 couplets of this collection. In one ovi she says that keeping a count of what is borrowed from a neighbour is necessary in order to return it, but there is no such need while borrowing from one’s mother. In another ovi , the narrator compares her mother to amsul (dried kokum ), an ingredient used in food or drink for the tanginess it brings, making it flavourful and tasty.

“I often miss my mother’s cooking,” says the singer who has been away from her parental home after getting married. It is from her mother, she says, that she learnt the secrets of running her household efficiently and economically – by grinding the grain so fine that more flour gets milled, and more bhakar (a form of roti ) can be made.

Shahubai’s message is clear in ovi set:  when a woman is hurt by unpleasantness in the world outside, the affection of her family, especially her mother’s love, is the balm that heals her wounded heart.

In September 2017, when the PARI GSP Team visited Shahubai’s village, Nandgaon, we could not meet the singer; she had passed away the previous year. Her sister-in-law and friend, Kusumtai Sonawane, who also sings grindmill songs , told PARI about the tunes Shahubai had composed. “She was adept at setting songs to new, melodious tunes. She knew exactly which galaa [tune] would work well for an ovi. Not every woman can do that, ” Kusumtai said.

With richly layered metaphors, this collection of songs is enhanced by Shahubai humming the tune of ‘ Nesale ga bai, aaj shalu banarasi ,’ a popular gaulan , or folk number. Sung in her special style, the tune sets the tone for the ovi that follow.

It was futile to share my secrets with my neighbour
She is not my mother, who will keep it to herself

If I confide in my neighbour, she will reveal it to others
But my mother will keep it all to herself

Whatever you have said, your talk smells of rivalry
Your bitter words have hurt me very deeply

Your acerbic words are like a cobweb in my heart
My eyes are shedding tears day and night

I am fed up with your harsh words,
Like the banana leaf being torn by the breeze

The ornaments my neighbour wears are thin, bone-like armlets
Come to my house, I will show you gold [my son] that shines bright

She wears some jewellery, humiliates and looks down upon me
Come to the house, I will show you my gold, my son and daughter

Don’t sit beside me decked in heavy ornaments and saree
My children mean more to me, like the brocade edges of my saree

A necklace with gold coins, I do wear sometimes
Now my son is my new chandrahar [necklace of gold beads]

To get deliverance from this world, one should have a daughter
Now my dear precious daughter is like a necklace of gold coins

A necklace with gold coins, hangs around my neck
My son, my chandrahar , is crowding my neck [with other ornaments]

I ask of you, God, kunku for my forehead [long life for my husband]
I don’t ask for it to keep with me forever

O foolish mind, don’t expect anything from others
I pray to you, God, give my son enough strength

O foolish heart, don’t expect anything from others
I pray to you, God, give my son enough strength

On the seashore, I had gone to seek a boon, for a son
And a daughter was born, like a basket of fish

I casually went for a bath on the seashore
And my son, my pearl, came into the hollow of my palms

I could not quench my thirst as the sea had dried up
But my mother has come like the Ganga from the heaven above

I could not get a bit of water as the sea had dried up
But my mother is like River Chandrabhaga in spate

Just calling anyone ‘mother,’ doesn’t make her my mother
The woman next door is no comparison to my mother

My mother is like a packet of amsul [mangosteen]
I was born to this packet of the [long-lasting] fruit

Mother, mother, we say, mother is a gold ornament
That is guaranteed pure gold, no need to test it

I may borrow two or four kilos from my neighbour
But I borrow from mother without keeping count

If I borrow from my neighbour, I will return it bit by bit
But borrowing from mother, I am used to it

I borrow from my neighbour, sitting in the doorway
From my mother I have borrowed so much since my birth

Woman, grind the flour fine, to make one and a half bhakar
My mother taught me how to manage the household

A fine round bhakar made from finely ground flour
I often miss my mother’s cooking

Date: These songs and the accompanying information were recorded on October 5, 1999. The photographs were taken on September 11, 2017.

Poster: Urja

Read about the original Grindmill Songs Project founded by Hema Rairkar and Guy Poitevin.