I GUESS I WAS BORN TO QUESTION THE TRADITIONS
Let me explain…
Let’s go back 20 years, to February 8, 2004—the day before I was born. My paternal grandmother, unaware of my exact due date, decided to return to her hometown. It was speculated that I would be born on February 12, so she planned to come back a few days later. The journey to my mother’s place (where my mother was staying during her pregnancy) was only 4–5 hours by bus, so it seemed like a reasonable plan at the time.
However, life had other plans. In the early hours of February 9, around 2 or 3 a.m., my mother unexpectedly went into labor and was rushed to the hospital. The doctors advised immediate delivery—apparently, I was quite eager to make my grand entrance into the world! Back then, mobile phones weren’t a thing (wow, that makes me feel old), so landlines were the only way to communicate. My mother, bound by tradition, felt the need to inform my grandmother first, as it was expected that she would make the final decision on how to proceed.
Unfortunately, my grandmother hadn’t yet reached her hometown, so it took two hours for the landline to connect. When she finally answered and was informed about the situation, her response was shocking—she advised against going forward with the delivery, claiming that it wasn’t an “auspicious time” and insisting that she had to be present. My grandmother, a mother of nine children herself, was no stranger to the pain of childbirth. Yet she demanded that my mother endure the agony and wait, prioritizing tradition over her well-being.
As the hours ticked by, complications arose. The doctors warned that further delays could threaten both my life and my mother’s. They suggested a C-section, as a normal delivery was becoming increasingly risky. My mother, determined to follow tradition despite the unbearable pain, initially resisted the suggestion. But when the situation became dire, she finally relented, though she insisted on a normal delivery despite the risks.
Through sheer effort and medical expertise, the doctors managed to pull off what they later described as a miracle, considering all the struggles my mom and I went through. I was finally born, albeit not without a fair share of drama. Ironically, I was born during what my grandmother later declared an “auspicious time,” though I often question the extent of that claim, considering the challenges I face today (a story for a different day).
When my grandmother arrived hours later, she scolded my mother for not following her instructions. That incident has stayed with me, not just as a story about my birth, but as a reflection of something deeper: the conflict between tradition and practicality.
(How I know about all this? My mom told me….. though not this dramatically lmao)
Even today, this notion of “auspicious time” continues to hold sway over many lives. In several hospitals, families refuse to consent to C-sections because the timing isn’t deemed favorable, often putting both the mother and baby at risk. The persistence of such beliefs, despite advances in medicine and the availability of better options, remains baffling.
This raises a question that continues to haunt me: Why do people place blind faith in tradition over morality and reason, especially when traditions evolve over time? Remember, practices like sati were once upheld as sacred traditions. What good is a tradition if it threatens the very humanity it was meant to nurture and preserve?
