V for Vendetta

“Make me of use, at least” she said, her words punctuated with tears. “We need to be useful to someone, or it is far better to die,” she said, her tears punctuated with words. “I am not much better than this,” she held the paperweight in her hands. “This is much better than me. You use it at least,” she said and abruptly stopped her words. For some time, there were neither tears nor words.

She tried out many courses for her graduation. Her marks were so unexciting that they would not push her up in the ladder. Her mother asked her to help her in the business. “There are no other options. You won’t get good match with these marks and I will have to pay a fortune by way of dowry. You have inherited all your good-for-nothing dad had. Try to follow me rather than doing experiments with courses. Stick to something useful for you.”

She does not remember when her father left her. She imagines him to be a bonehead with loose morals. That is the picture mum’s words drew. She started to walk on her mother’s lines unfalteringly. Everything started from religion. She had to practice every ritual scrupulously and as instructed by mother. From dressing to dining she did not have her say. But, she did not have anyone to depend, to submit herself, but her mum. Her words were not only sacred; they were as essential to her as the very air she breathes in. But it dawned on her, when mum started to force her pray and study or scold her for trifles, that her affection was not unconditional. I will only be accepted, if I fulfill her needs. But she had grudge to none. All she wanted was to stand and go on the lines mum charted for her, rather than being wayward like her father.

But she had to constantly keep her eyes peeled to toe her mother’s line. The fact is that she has been meted out punishment at the very young age of five. There were complaints galore. So however hard she tried, she could not be successful. She failed to get acceptance she earnestly desired. Allegations kept being showered on her. ‘You are fit for nothing.’ She earnestly desired to fit for something which would keep her mum happy. She was not a bright student all along. Or, is it just that she was not accepted bright, however hard she tried? When she made a clean breast of the emotional setbacks she underwent and of her attempts to switch roles to placate her mother, I could think of a skilled, athletic batsman who stands on the crease waiting for the delivery from bowler. There is uproar from gallery, loudly crying out his name and anxiously demanding the perfect hit. Whom does he face? The bowler or his fans or mentors? Failure by way of a loose shot or faulty action on the delivery would disappoint the gallery. He would shatter many expectations put on his shoulder. He faced the gallery, not the bowler. He could hear a loose, slow, and bad delivery snaking its way past his bat to claim the stump. Silence. She was suffering the same emotions. She had the target; to achieve good grades. Surely, she had the skills to achieve them. But her focus got deflected on the person whom her marks would cheer up. And anticipations of failure did let her down. She tried to achieve what her mother wanted her to. But in lieu of consolation and encouragement, she received brickbats from her. She could not climb up the great wall mum made herself out to be. Unknowingly, revenge to mum came to set in her cognition. After that she responded to her mother’s entreaties and scolding with resistance and rebellion.

The change in her response was occasioned by the change in her image both of father and mother she carved out in her. What she perceived her mother to be is different from what she really is. It is the real mother far removed from the ideal mother who was taken as the subject of her rebellion. When the mother told her she was fit for nothing, her unconscious (without her knowledge) received it as strong injunctions: Don’t make it; don’t belong; don’t trust and don’t express.