If Your Mother Is God - Who Are You?
- Madhukar Dama
- Sep 15, 2025
- 10 min read
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐๐๐ฅ๐: ๐๐ก๐ซ๐๐ ๐๐๐ง๐๐ซ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐ฌ
In one household, three women live.
The grandmother, bent and weary, is remembered for her sacrifices, not her joys.
The mother, endlessly serving, feels a fire rising: โI gave my youth away. Through my son, I will live free.โ
The daughter, still a child, is already being told: โDonโt laugh too loudly. Donโt answer back. Learn to serve.โ
Just as the mother feels her revolt awakening, society crowns her: โYou are God.โ
Her anger is silenced. Her son is chained in guilt. Her daughter learns that erasure equals respect.
The grandmotherโs story becomes the motherโs, the motherโs becomes the daughterโs.
The wheel turns once more.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ฌ
A girl in India is never treated as a whole human.
As a daughter, she is a helper.
As a wife, she is a servant.
As a mother, she is unpaid labour.
Her humanity is broken at every stage.
And when her anger grows, when revolt seems possible, she is crowned: โMother is God.โ
This crown is not liberation. It is the most polished chain ever forged.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐จ๐ง๐จ๐ฆ๐ข๐ ๐๐ก๐๐ข๐ง
Every day she cooks, cleans, fetches, cares, heals, sacrifices.
This labour is endless โ yet invisible.
By calling it โdivine,โ society avoids giving it value.
No wages. No recognition. No freedom.
The halo of godhood is the cheapest wage ever paid โ it hides economic exploitation under the mask of holiness.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐จ๐ง
The sharpest fire rises when her son becomes a man.
She thinks: โI will no longer be silent. Through him, I will claim my voice. Through him, I will rise.โ
This is the moment society fears most โ the moment when both mother and son could revolt.
So it is here that she is crowned most fiercely: โYou are not woman โ you are God.โ
Her revolt is suffocated in worship.
Her son is paralysed in guilt.
Both remain chained.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฌ๐ฒ๐๐ก๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ก๐๐ข๐ง
The most effective slavery is internal.
She begins to believe: โSacrifice is my strength. Worship is my worth.โ
Her very pride becomes her prison.
And she passes this belief to her children.
Her son learns that devotion is virtue.
Her daughter learns that silence is womanhood.
The chain is tightened by love itself.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐๐ ๐๐ฌ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐
Cinema and myth show the same script.
In Mother India, Nargis is immortal only by sacrifice.
Nirupa Roy became โthe motherโ by being blind, hungry, suffering.
In stories and scriptures, Lakshmi, Mary, and countless others are holy only when erased as women.
This is the deepest proof: women are never accepted as human.
They must either be degraded as slaves or elevated as goddesses. Both ways, their humanity disappears.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ง ๐๐ฌ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฏ๐ โ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐๐ข๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ
The boy is told: โYour mother is God. Serve her. Obey her. Never question.โ
So he grows up guilty, not free.
If he disobeys, he is ungrateful.
If he questions, he is sinful.
If he chooses differently, he is selfish.
And in his slavery, he becomes the jailor.
He demands his wife to serve like his mother.
He raises his daughter to sacrifice like his mother.
He raises his son to bow like himself.
The revolt dies. The cycle multiplies.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ๐-๐๐๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐๐ซ๐๐ก๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ฌ
The goddess image is not the same for all.
A brahmin mother is draped in ritual holiness. A dalit mother rarely receives that pedestal.
Yet both are chained, both denied humanity.
The illusion stabilises not just patriarchy, but caste.
Devotion maintains the hierarchy.
Rebellion never rises.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ก๐๐ข๐ง
The family cage becomes the model for society.
The nation is โBharat Mata.โ
The cow is โGau Mata.โ
Citizens are trained to serve these mothers exactly as they serve at home: with sacrifice, guilt, obedience.
Private slavery becomes public submission.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ง๐๐๐ซ ๐๐๐ซ๐๐๐จ๐ฑ
Womanhood is cut into two masks.
The holy mother: worshipped.
The fallen woman: condemned.
Between these two, normal humanity is erased.
By crowning the mother as God, daughters are policed into chastity, trained to be the next silent servants.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐ง
Men too remain unfinished.
Fear of guilt keeps them boys forever.
They grow old, still sons.
They marry, still clinging to motherโs lap.
They drag wives and children into the same cage.
A society of infantilised men is the easiest to control.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐ฉ
Modernity has only strengthened the cycle.
Parents live longer โ sons remain โchildrenโ till old age.
Technology distracts โ WhatsApp bhakti, TV serials, shopping, reels.
Addictions numb โ alcohol, betting apps, endless consumption.
Dependency grows. Guilt deepens. Revolt becomes impossible.
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๐๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ญ๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐๐ฌ, ๐๐๐ฆ๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐ฉ
Ramesh in Patna gives up engineering because his mother pleads, โDonโt leave me.โ
Vinay in Bangalore buys a flat, marries by command, works endless EMIs.
Shaji in Kerala returns from Dubai, collapsing under the guilt of being โgood son.โ
Harjit in Punjab praises his wife as โDeviโ while she eats last, works first, and dies early.
Millions of homes. One story.
Every revolt suffocated by worship.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐๐ฅ ๐๐ซ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก
True godhood is not in worship.
True godhood is in freedom.
When mother and son meet as equals, not idol and devotee, something sacred appears.
Not in sacrifice, but in humanity.
Not in chains, but in liberation.
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๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฐ ๐๐ฎ๐๐ฌ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง
So if your mother is God โ who are you?
Not free.
Not adult.
Not whole.
You are a worshipper of your own chains.
A prisoner who becomes jailor.
A son who kneels, and teaches others to kneel.
Every bow you make is proof: women are still denied humanity โ
praised as goddesses, but treated as less than human.
---
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐จ๐ง
This is not a call to abandon mothers.
It is a call to break the illusion.
To love women as humans, not as gods.
To care without chaining.
To respect without erasing.
To end the slavery disguised as worship.
Only then can revolt live.
Only then can society breathe.
Only then can freedom begin.
Until then, the crown of divinity will remain the cleverest disguise of slavery.
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IF YOUR MOTHER IS GOD - WHO ARE YOU?
-- a dialogue with Madhukar
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ซ๐ซ๐ข๐ฏ๐๐ฅ
They came at dawn, across the fields of Yelmadagi, where the sky was the colour of ash turning to fire. Each had read Madhukarโs essay โIf Your Mother is God โ Who Are You?โ and none could rest until they faced him.
They sat in a circle around the courtyard fire. A pot of tea simmered. The smoke of burning wood rose into the sky.
Madhukar sat cross-legged on a mat, quiet, his eyes sharp but unhurried. He looked at them, then at the horizon.
Madhukar (softly):
If your mother is God โ who are you?
Silence fell. And then the dialogue began.
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1. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ซ โ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐งโ๐ฌ ๐๐๐๐๐ง๐ฌ๐
Elder (proudly):
We have always called mother God. She suffers, she gives, she forgives. Without her blessing, a son cannot prosper. This is not a cage, Madhukar. It is the crown of honour.
Madhukar:
And when you crown her, Elder, what does she gain?
Freedom to rest?
Freedom to live for herself?
Or only endless duty, dressed as holiness?
(The elder frowns, uncomfortable.)
Elder (firm):
But if we strip away this reverence, wonโt families fall apart? Without devotion, children will abandon parents.
Madhukar (quietly):
Do you need worship to love?
Do you need chains to stay?
A son who loves as human will never abandon.
But a son who worships is chained in guilt โ and guilt is not love.
(The elder stares into the fire. His defence wavers, though he does not admit it aloud.)
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2. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ก๐จ๐จ๐ฅ๐ญ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ซ โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐ฅ๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐จ๐ง
Schoolteacher (hesitant):
But devotionโฆ devotion gives discipline. A child who bows to his mother learns humility. Isnโt this better than arrogance?
Madhukar:
Humility is to see the other as human. Worship is to erase the other as human.
Tell me, Teacher โ do you call your father God?
Schoolteacher (startled):
Noโฆ father is respected, not worshipped.
Madhukar:
Then why is only the mother crowned?
Because through this crown, her revolt is killed, her labour is hidden, her silence is secured.
This is not humility โ it is erasure.
(The teacher adjusts his glasses nervously. His hesitation grows heavier.)
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3. ๐๐ก๐ ๐ ๐๐ซ๐ฆ๐๐ซ-๐๐จ๐ง โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฏ๐-๐๐๐ข๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ
Farmer-Son (voice shaking with emotion):
My mother gave everything for me. She prayed, she worked, she carried me through hunger. I owe her my life. How can I not call her God?
Madhukar:
You owe her love. Not worship.
By making her God, you silence her humanity.
And worse โ you silence yourself.
(The son clenches his fists.)
Farmer-Son (angrily):
Without my mother, I am nothing!
Madhukar (gazing steadily):
And that is the tragedy.
You should have been free, strong, questioning.
Instead, you are chained in guilt. You are not a man โ you remain a boy.
And tomorrow, you will chain your wife the same way, calling her Devi only when she erases herself.
You will chain your daughter, teaching her that sacrifice is her only virtue.
You will chain your son, teaching him to bow as you bow.
(The sonโs face breaks. His anger dissolves into silent tears. He looks down, breathing hard.)
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4. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ง โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ ๐ข๐ซ๐
(Until now, she has remained silent. But her eyes burn. At last she speaks.)
Young Woman (quiet, trembling):
When they call us Deviโฆ we feel suffocated. We are not allowed to be angry, or selfish, or free. We can only serve. The word โGoddessโ becomes a chain around our throat.
Madhukar (nodding gently):
Yes. The crown is the chain. The halo is the cage.
Your silence is not devotion. It is the silence of erased humanity.
(Her eyes moisten. The elder looks away, troubled. The schoolteacher shifts uneasily. The fire pops, sharp as a slap.)
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5. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐ ๐ข๐ซ๐ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐จ๐ง
Activist (voice rising like flame):
This illusion hides caste too. The brahmin mother is wrapped in ritual holiness, the dalit mother ignored โ but both are chained. Both are tools of unpaid labour. Both are silenced.
Mother as God is not honour. It is the cleverest trick to keep women down and society unchanged.
Madhukar:
Yes. The crown is not equal. But the purpose is the same: to deny woman her humanity, across caste, across class.
Worship stabilises both patriarchy and caste.
It is obedience disguised as devotion.
(The activist breathes hard, fire in his eyes. Others look unsettled, but cannot deny it.)
---
6. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐๐ฅ ๐๐๐๐ค๐๐ซ โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐๐ญ ๐๐จ๐ข๐๐ ๐จ๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ก
Seeker (pleading):
But bhakti is the highest path! To surrender to mother, to serve her, to love her as God โ isnโt this the purest spirituality?
Madhukar (calm, cutting):
Is it pure, or is it paralysis?
Love as human is sacred.
But worship as God is slavery.
True godhood is not in bowing, but in meeting as equals.
True spirituality is not guilt, but freedom.
(The seeker closes his eyes. His lips tremble with hymns unspoken.)
---
7. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ซ-๐๐๐ก๐จ๐ฅ๐๐ซ โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐๐ง๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐๐๐ญ
Scholar (carefully):
Your words echo Freudโs Oedipus complex, Marxโs unpaid labour, feminist critique of patriarchy. It is fascinating howโฆ
Madhukar (interrupting, sharply):
Do not bury living wounds in books.
This is not theory.
This is not Freud, not Marx, not feminism.
This is the soil we sit on. The homes we live in. The mothers we chain.
Speak not of libraries โ look at her face. (He gestures toward the silent mother.)
There is your truth.
(The scholar flushes. His pen drops. He bows his head, stripped of abstraction.)
---
8. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐๐จ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ซ โ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ
(She has spoken nothing all morning. Her shawl drapes her thin frame. Her face is lined, unreadable. She shifts slightly, adjusts her scarf. That is all. But her silence fills the courtyard.)
Madhukar (softly, almost to himself):
This silence is not holiness.
It is exhaustion.
It is erased humanity.
Society calls it peace.
But it is slavery, gilded and praised.
(The fire fades to embers. The dawn light sharpens.)
---
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐จ๐ง
Madhukar (rising, voice steady, raw):
So I ask again โ if your mother is God, who are you?
Not free.
Not adult.
Not whole.
You are a worshipper of your own chains.
A prisoner who becomes jailor.
A son who bows, and teaches others to bow.
Until you break this illusion โ until you love as humans, not worship as gods โ there will be no revolt, no freedom, no truth.
(Silence. Each visitor carries the weight of the words. The elderโs pride trembles. The teacherโs hesitation deepens. The farmer-son wipes his eyes. The young womanโs fire glows quietly. The activist burns hotter. The seeker shivers. The scholar shrinks. The silent mother sits, still witness, still burden. The morning sun floods the land. The dialogue ends, but the question remains โ eternal, unerasable.)
---
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๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฐ๐ง๐ฌ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐ก๐๐ข๐ง๐ฌ
you grow up
in a one-room house in india
where the electricity cuts out every evening
and the mother cooks by kerosene light
her back bent like the bamboo door
her hands never hers
and they tell you:
she is god.
but gods donโt weep at midnight
with unpaid bills spread like dead insects
on the floor.
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they dress her in a halo
to hide the stench of sweat and silence.
they call her devi
so they donโt have to call her worker,
so they donโt have to pay her wages.
this is indiaโs cheapest trick:
a billion mothers working for free
because worship is cheaper than wages.
---
the son kneels.
his head on her feet.
his spine cracking under guilt
he mistakes for love.
he cannot say no.
he cannot leave.
he cannot question.
he cannot breathe.
they tell him:
to serve is virtue.
but what it is,
is slavery rehearsed as devotion.
---
and then he grows
into the perfect citizen.
quiet. fearful. obedient.
he marries.
he demands his wife be goddess too.
he raises his daughter to sacrifice.
he raises his son to kneel.
the cycle spins like a broken ceiling fan
in a rented delhi room.
---
caste stands guard at the door.
the brahmin mother crowned in puja.
the dalit mother ignored in the fields.
different masks, same silence.
both erased as human.
this is the glue of india:
patriarchy tied to caste
with threads of guilt and prayer.
---
politicians join the chorus:
bharat mata. gau mata.
every mata.
they know exactly what they are doing.
keep men bowing at home,
they will bow in parliament too.
private slavery becomes public obedience.
---
religion is the grand director.
hindu texts, christian hymns, islamic hadithsโ
each promising paradise
under motherโs tired feet.
but paradise never came
to the woman herself.
her heaven was a kitchen.
her hell was eternal silence.
---
the mother thinks of revolt.
when her son grows,
she feels it:
โi gave my youth away.
through him i will finally rise.โ
but just then
society tightens the crown.
โyou are god.โ
and the revolt dies.
a crown is placed.
a cage is locked.
both shine.
---
india drowns in unpaid labour,
unquestioned obedience,
and men who never grow up.
sixty-year-old sons
still on their motherโs lap.
forty-year-old wives
still silenced in kitchens.
children learning
that chains are holy.
---
this is not respect.
respect would mean freedom.
this is worship.
worship means silence.
the crown of divinity
is the chain of slavery.
---
look around:
a billion bowed heads,
a billion quiet kitchens,
a billion unpaid gods
cooking rice in cracked pots.
this is indiaโs most polished lie:
call her god, keep her subhuman.
---
so if your mother is god โ
who the hell are you?
not free.
not man.
not rebel.
just another idiot
kneeling at your own cage.
---
wake up.
stop worshipping.
start loving.
see her as human,
or you will die as a slave.
and your children
will inherit your chains.
---
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