A daughter’s dilemma
My two year old son, my driver and me form the three members of our little farewell group as we get into the crowded Secundrabad station this afternoon, helping my parents with their luggage. It is my first time at this station and I must say it is quite well organised and maintained. Atri is thrilled to see trains in various colours and he is screaming out one of his favourite rhymes - “Engine Engine Number Nine”. He cannot contain his excitement as to which view to take in and which to let go. The train to Bombay has arrived well ahead of time and we find the bogie without much of a walk. We clamour in, get their bags all settled, take some pictures inside the compartment, exchange goodbyes and leave for home. The walk from platform number five to the car park is just under five minutes but the heat is sweltering. In the half hour ride in the car back to our home, a lot of thoughts are swimming in my head. I had to write them down.
My parents just left for Bombay. They had come over to give me company and support me while the husband went to conquer the Atacama, over the last two weeks. I’ve been an independent girl for most of my life, never depending or demanding too much from parents or relatives even though we lived in the same city for a considerable length of time. I prefer it that way.
Even when I lived in Bombay, I was a good 25 kms away from them, and while I would go every other weekend to see them, they would rarely travel that traffic ridden distance and stay with me, unless there was a pressing need. But I do remember, whenever they did stay over for sometime, especially my mom, I’d always feel an emptiness when she left, even if she were just an hour’s drive away. Sometimes I would cry too. People who have read my previous post, might think I have this disorder that makes my lachrymal glands go into an overdrive at the drop of a hat. I promise you, it is not so. So when I do get into these emotionally overwhelming states, I want to analyse why this happens to me. The analysis does not always end with an answer, it makes an interesting introspective session.
My relationship with the parents, while it is caring and all that, we are not the lovey dovey sorts, hugging each other and calling each other by terms of endearment. It is the typical not-so-orthodox Tambram way of showing respect to them and not too expressive of our feelings towards them. While I tell my son “Mamma loves you” and I teach him to say “I love you” to me, my parents and me have never exchanged these words. You know what I mean? Not that I am complaining - we know the love and caring is there, but the bridge between their generation and ours was built that way. Also their way of doing things is almost radically different from ours. Right from meal timings to menu to daily routine is as different as it can get. When they are at my place, I adjust to their way of life, as it is easier for all of us that way.
My mom and me often have our squabbles regarding something or the other and I crib to my dad that he cant find things in the kitchen that are right in front of his eyes. Their waking up at an unearthly hour of 4.30 am instead of relaxing and enjoying their retired life, irks me. Also, watching Podhigai channel at 5 am, even if it is airing ‘How to solve class 10 papers’ from ten years ago ;) Certain things like old kutcheris and blade movies that are forever on the rerun on one or the other Tamil channel, grate on my nerves. The fact that they want to go walking to the temple in the blazing sun despite the car and driver waiting downstairs is another matter of irritation.
So we have our reasons to fight, crib and squabble. The good parts are, mom takes over the kitchen totally. Our kitchen here in Hyderabad for some reason is smaller than the bathrooms (which are HUGE) and more than one person working inside this kitchen is sure to create a mini war-like situation. Besides my mom likes to go about her cooking in her own fashion and I don’t think she appreciates my poking in the middle. Tea is ready when I wake up, courtesy dad. Atri’s (our two year old son) morning tantrums on waking up are soothed with kind words or suitable distractions. I don’t have to worry about what lunch to cook. Amma has already gotten started on that. Afternoon tea is again prepared before I can think ‘tea’ by Amma and served to me in my hand, while they manage Atri so I can relaxedly sip my favourite beverage, which is more than impossible with him around. When I am too tired of entertaining the son, they gang up and play silly games and make him laugh. Mealtimes especially run like clockwork, which is quite the opposite when I am by myself. Also, being cricket world cup season, my cricket mad parents and sister are the perfect company to watch a match, do ball by ball analysis and also play the blame game, other than giving choicest abuses to Ashish Nehra.
When Sumanth lost his credit cards en-route to the Atacama, I was a bundle of nerves not knowing what to do, how to send him the money, etc. Just having them around provided me with a sense of strength. While they might not understand what makes their son-in-law take up such an adventure, they were there to support me all along and to congratulate him on his achievements when he returned back victorious.
We get on each others’ nerves, we also care for each other. Some things about each other we find intolerable and yet when they pick up their bags and leave, they’ll miss me and I am reduced to tears. Tears of guilt for not being a better, more understanding daughter, tears of loneliness that I will face through the day once they are gone, until I get adjusted back into my old routine. The same little eccentricities that are peevish when they are around are the ones that remind me of them the most when they are gone. Their regimented and disciplined life that irks me when they are around makes me miss the little order that it brings to my life too, when they go back home.
As I type this, I have eaten the food prepared by my mum this morning, a simple meal of Poricha Kootu (which I can never make like her), Capsicum curry and rice and Amma, Appa and Nivedita must be eating the rotis I packed for them for a train mini-meal. A perfect way to exchange love.
