Suddenly, one fine evening, I realised how far I had drifted apart from my family. I had missed a couple of festivals the previous year and had instructed my office folks to not bother me with calls from my parents. And then, it hit me. Like a meteor strike. My world, crashing down, leaving me with an unexplainable urge to burst out crying. I was an independent woman and was not supposed to cry. I left everything as such and went to my parents’ place. The moment I saw mom, I hugged her with all I had. The ache was subsiding slowly. So were the wounds healing.
This is not a slice of my life. Not yet, at least.
Watching one of my favourite romcoms made me ponder over the idea of healing. We go through different stages in life, where people come and go. It is as if our life is an open university and people can barge in and out anytime they want to. But there remains only one constant in that entire equation- family.
Thanks to Oedipus, girls are always daddy’s lil princesses. Since when does the bond between a mother and a daughter come to the forefront? Is it when the daughter hits puberty? Or is it when she starts working that the mother sees a younger version of herself in her offspring? Does marriage bring the two closer? Or is it just the physical absence that makes hearts grow fonder?
I remember trusting both my parents to the T growing up. So much that I never knew when I was full. I said I was full when my mother told me I was full and can’t stuff my face with any more food. I am told that I trusted appa so much that I went with him to Hosur without amma when I was around a year and half old.
But the earliest memories of amma and I chatting up would be from nine years back. I think the saga began then and has not shortened. Our conversations have only gotten longer and weirder. Would this change once I get married and go off somewhere to make my own family? Only time will tell. The freedom to visit home whenever I want to or to stay for months there would be curtailed then. But would the substance of our conversations change? I wonder.
Would I feel stifled when I am deprived of my own mom-time? I think so. How does one cope up with such drastic changes? I guess that is a part of the whole ‘being ready’ thing. You grow up, see how things are with mom and dad and wistfully wish the same for yourself.
The news of Sridevi’s death came as a rude shocker to me. Honestly, I haven’t grown up watching her movies since I rarely watched movies growing up. But, whatever I had watched recently and struck a chord with me, she reminded me of my own mother (English Vinglish, for further references). Heck, in that movie, even her name was that of my mother 😀
What ached me was the thoughts about Khushi and Jhanvi, Sridevi’s daughters. I am sure some part of those two girls died on February 24, 2018.