Tag: family

Home, I Go

It matters where you’re headed more than how you’re headed.

If you’re wondering who said that, it is I.

I realised the truth in those words for the first time as I leaned back on my seat, and heard a disapproving grunt from the passenger behind me.

350 kms and about seven hours on a bus. (It would be five and a half or six during the day, but no one’s decoded the Indian standard time yet). Oh, and the seven hours doesn’t include the hour-long (or longer) wait at the bus stop because we Indians don’t conform (to timetables, in particular), and our roads aren’t paved to accommodate on-timers.

In fact, going home on a Friday night isn’t something to look forward to, but more of a painful endeavour.

Still, though, every time I go home, my spine would tingle for my lazy couch and my stomach would growl for some homemade gravy. For every back-breaking minute I endure on the bus, I imagine lying at home sipping steaming tea and streaming shows I’ve never watched before.

Because when you’re at home, you’re home. You’re the celebrity and you get — in a day — all you’ve craved for the last six months.

And that thought makes all the potholes and broken armrests worthwhile. Nevertheless, the journey is all about tossing over trying to sleep on a seat that’s meant to be sat on. Or staring out at the dark sky dotted with specks of silvery stars, and pretending that other buses shrieking through the silent night doesn’t bother me at all.

I manage to do all that, every single time. And when the bus stops for a midnight break, I look at the watery mess they call coffee, and I smile. Because I know it’ll be better in the morning and I’d be home.

The Move

It was the big day. She was nervous, worried, scared, and anxious all at the same time.

——–

Friends in her old school had warned her about moving into a new school. They had told her to stay back, “So what if your dad got a transfer? You can stay in the hostel with us.” But her mother had been stubborn. They had to move to a new city and Jessica wasn’t to argue.And so she had packed up her books, her toys, and her favourite stuffed animals. Rhonda and Mervin had teared up when they said their goodbyes. “Please come visit us,” Mervin had said, wiping her tears with the handkerchief pinned to her pinafore. And Rhonda had been too upset for anything more than a giant hug.

And so she had packed up her books, her toys, and her favourite stuffed animals. Rhonda and Mervin had teared up when they said their goodbyes. “Please come visit us,” Mervin had said, wiping her tears with the handkerchief pinned to her pinafore. And Rhonda had been too upset for anything more than a giant hug.The other kids had tried to be more helpful. “Hey, be careful. I heard kids in that city are

The other kids had tried to be more helpful. “Hey, be careful. I heard kids in that city are barbarous. They’ll tease you, and push you, and won’t pick you in group games.”Jessica tried to tell her mom all this, but she wasn’t to argue. They had filled up the car and ridden off to the city of Bangalore. She had walked into

Jessica tried to tell her mom all this, but she wasn’t to argue. They had filled up the car and ridden off to the city of Bangalore. She had walked into the school and everyone had teased her, ‘Just like Peter said,’ she wailed to herself. But she wasn’t to argue, so she adapted instead. Ten years went by and new school had now become

Ten years went by and new school had now become school. Strangers had become classmates and some even friends. As she stood at the gate on the last day of her school life, Jessica remembered Rhonda. “Please come visit us,” Rhonda’s teary voice reverberated in her head. Jessica had never gone back. “Friends forever!” They had declared to one another. And she hadn’t even called Rhonda once since the move. Mervin had called her twice, but she had been too busy with her new friends to answer or call back. Bangalore had thrown her in the midst of iPhone photographers and makeup-clad girls. She had been too distracted to think of small town Rhonda and Mervin.

And standing by the gate, alone, she yearned to sit once again, at the school canteen with Rhonda and Mervin by her side. And then she realised, it was time to make the visit she had postponed for so long.

—

It was the big day. Her old town was still old, still shabby, and still small. She approached the decaying school building with its peeling paint and cracked walls. And there they stood, looking much older than in her memories of them, Rhonda and Mervin. They had grown out of their pinafores and into dainty dresses. Jessica smiled at them and saw they did too. There was not a hint of or anger in their eyes. She began walking towards them, and every step sent shivers down Jessica’s spine.

Game of Life

The moms were there and dads were too
best men glowed, bridesmaids glowered
they tilted heads and swelled with joy
as the coupling saw each other’s eyes
with bright exuberance and wild passion
exchanging bands with studded jewels.
Though an entire congregation witnessed,
none would’ve guessed how it all ended.

A Simpler Time

If there’s one thing about my childhood that I cherish, it’s the endless sea of tea plantation and me trying to stand straight on a sloping ground that’s more slippery than a bathtub.

I like to think I had happy summers and Christmases there in the Nilgiri where an uncle of mine owned a tea estate. Every time school closed for a holiday we’d pack up our trunks, pick up a truck, and head up the hills. And no matter how many times we’d been up there, round and round the hairpin bends, squashing against each other at steep curves, and spilling juice all over the seats, the trip would be filled with fun and laughter. Plus, when we cousins got together, we’d just hang around and find reasons to drink more tea than usual.

It was a simpler time when ego was unheard of, and adolescent mood swings were in the unseeable future. My uncle’s house was set deep inside an estate, and we’d often take walks around the house exploring unkempt trees and unfamiliar plants. We’d find a new fruit each day only to hear from the well-trained estate folk that we’d discovered poisonous plants. We’d run around barefoot and come home crying with a bruised knee and a guilty-looking cousin. And our biggest problem was coming back before the bears got to us.

But then we got older. What once seemed impossible became the ugly reality. We had grown up, and in the process, lost our innocence to society’s poison that our estate friends failed to warn us about. We drifted apart, seeking joy in movies rather than the open lands. We once walked into dense nature just to live the moment, but as our hair grew, so did our passion for attention, and our attraction to selfies. We are cousins who don’t even visit each other anymore. Some of us married, some happy, some looking, and some others still finding joy in brewing tea.

Life doused our faces with reality, yet the memories linger of a childhood worth cherishing.