On Arriving

5 Apr

Just when I was celebrating my continuous run here on the blog, did a spoke wedge itself in my routine. It has been a busy week – a busy week spending time with my mom who was visiting and my family at large. Nobody wants to sit in front of their computer when you can sit and stare at your parent instead, right? Haha!

We didn’t really do much, or rather we didn’t really do anything fancy or out of the ordinary. This time was largely spent being at home and just faffing around…sometimes in conversation, sometimes in silence. Besides, it has become too hot and no person in their sane mind would want to gallivant in this weather, I’m sure.

It’s one thing to be busy in an office kind of way and it is absolutely another thing to be busy doing nothing sometimes. I tried hovering around my mother as much as I could, even at the cost of annoying her, but then again, we don’t get to meet each other on a daily basis anymore, so it’s all okay, I’ve realized.

She came home (my home) for the first time since I’ve been married and I did have these goals to make it as easy and comfortable for her as I could. After all, we do want to show the ones we love the most, the best time ever. We do want to show them that we’re more in control, more settled, more able…that this decision we made to leave home and pick a life with our spouse, was a good decision indeed. We do want to deliver a sense of ease and perhaps even (small forms of) luxury from time to time… Basically, I think it’s all about showing a sense of maturity, a sense of actual growing up.

Her visit wasn’t as bad, I imagine. However, it wasn’t as I had planned either. Call it starting trouble or being too ambitious, the entire plan I’d churned up in my head didn’t entirely go the way I would’ve wanted it to. But then I do have to remind myself of two very important things, one of which I have stated here quite so many times before:

a) Things seldom go as per plan. So either be more flexible or have no expectations.

b) My homestead is not even six months old. It’s going to be raw and it isn’t going to be like a hotel. Ever. Therefore, it is okay.

Being a host is such an important factor to me – apart from the fact that I do enjoy it very much (and very selectively), it validates me in more ways than just testifying that I am capable of running the show. It allows me the ability to give to people what I cannot give in words or even physical action; because that is reserved only for those chosen few. However, it does become easier for me to show my love and care through these actions which helps undo the vibes of unapproachability  I give off all the time. It is that one forte that allows me to become a more balanced version of myself, a platform that gives me a chance to express who I am in so many different ways.

Therefore I did not want mom to cook or clean or do the things she does at her own home. But moms are moms and moms must do what they must do, I reckon. Therefore I was blessed with her presence in so many ways – I got to have food made by her, I got to just sit with her and do nothing but sponge off all that I could from her (even her faint fragrance), I got to lie down with her, I got to chat and gossip and crib with her…she brought colour, more life and more soul to this place… it feels a lot more like home now – and I’m certain that’s a thing only mothers can do without doing much really… nothing extravagant or ornate; just simple habits we’ve grown up with that took new roots here as well… her taking the dusting cloth and going a bit crazy with it, her lighting the lamp at home, her folding the clothes while in conversation, her tidying up the results of my nasty habit of strewing clothes on the chair… something as simple as her using my body lotion or me covering her with a sheet as she dozed…so automatic, so innate, so familiar. While she did her own thing and always kept herself occupied with something (as she would have done, in her own home), all I did was drop everything I could and just be there, watch her, absorb her.

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it again – I do not miss Bangalore in the way I imagined I would (we do tend to picture the worst in our head for reasons best known to us). It doesn’t hurt and neither do I pine for it. But little did I realize the small voids I was carrying in me when I left… In the hurry to feel as at home as possible and as soon as possible, I overlooked the fact that these small actions were the ones that made a home feel like home. It isn’t really the place as much as it is the people and the things we do that make a place feel like home. Flowers, clean sheets, folded freshly laundered clothes, incense sticks, lamps, a dal’s tadka, soft hands, that touch, that serenity, pickle, her soft cheeks, tea and toast, arguments and bickering, music (I do not play as much music for some strange reason), the rustling of the newspaper’s pages, her habit to munch, a bottle of cool water and some sweet biscuits by her bed for the night… that’s home.

And that, I will always miss, now since I’ve left home to make my own. However, I know that I have arrived…that I am not hanging in the middle, feeling lost.

I did have the time to come and write, but with all this going on, I didn’t even realize which date of the month we were on. She left and I feel a lot fuller now; a lot less incomplete…an incompleteness that only your mother can fill…and a lot ready and charged to get back into my routine.

And just to make it feel more real and homey; both of us coincidentally made batches of ghee (clarified butter) today.


2 Responses to “On Arriving”

  1. sandhyakml April 6, 2016 at 11:47 AM #

    Fully relatable! :) *hug*


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