The Mama I Longed For

 The Mama I Longed For

By John Aguiar

For most children, a mama—a mother's brother—is often a source of affection, protection, and cherished memories. In our culture, the bond between a child and a mama is considered special and enduring. Unfortunately, my own story was very different.

My mother was born into the respected Rau Valaulikar family, a Gaud Saraswat Brahmin household during the Portuguese regime in Goa. She fell deeply in love with my father, Diogo Aguiar, a man from a different community and faith. Their decision to marry was not welcomed by many members of either family. The strongest opposition came from my mother's brother—my mama.

Unable to accept his sister's choice, he distanced himself from her after the marriage. The divide that began between brother and sister eventually extended to me, an innocent child who had played no part in the decisions of the previous generation.

As a child, I often heard stories about the love that mamas shower on their nephews and nieces. I longed for such a relationship. Whenever I saw other children enjoying the company of their maternal uncles, I wondered why I did not have one.

In my early years, my mother would simply tell me that I had no mama. Perhaps she wished to shield me from the painful reality. As I grew older, she gradually revealed the truth about her family and the circumstances that had separated them. I learned that my mama was alive, but he had never accepted my mother's marriage and, consequently, had never embraced me as his nephew.

The desire to meet him remained in my heart. I wanted to know him, to speak with him, and perhaps to understand the man who was my mother's brother. Yet opportunities were few. My mother herself was not keen on encouraging contact, knowing the hurt and rejection she had experienced.

I saw my mama only once in my life, in Shantinagar. It was a brief encounter, but one that remains etched in my memory. There was no warm embrace, no affectionate conversation, and no opportunity to build the bond I had imagined for so many years. It was simply a fleeting moment between two people connected by blood but separated by circumstances and old wounds.

Time moved on, and eventually my mama passed away. By then, the distance between him and my mother had become permanent. Even after his death, my mother chose not to visit him. She remained steadfast in her decision. The pain of the past and the stubbornness on both sides had built walls that neither was willing—or perhaps able—to cross.

Looking back today, I feel neither anger nor resentment. Instead, I feel a quiet sadness for what could have been. Family relationships are precious, yet they can also be fragile. Sometimes pride, social expectations, and old grievances deprive us of years that can never be recovered.

I often wonder how different my life might have been had my mama accepted my mother's choice and welcomed me into his life. Perhaps I would have gained not only an uncle but also stories, guidance, and memories that every child deserves.

Yet life teaches us to find peace with what was not meant to be. My mother's courage to follow her heart gave me life and shaped the person I am today. While I never experienced the love of a mama, I inherited something equally valuable from her—the strength to endure rejection and the wisdom to understand that love cannot be forced; it can only be given freely.

The mama I longed for remained distant throughout my life, but the lesson his absence taught me remains close to my heart: family bonds are strongest not because of blood alone, but because of acceptance, forgiveness, and love.