Thursday, March 12, 2015

Delhi Calling

I moved back to Delhi recently. Initially, when my good friends heard about it, I was treated to a barrage of brickbats. I had always wanted to lead a single and independent life. Then why did I decide to throw that axe on my leg?
I agree that living in a new city with friends in a rented apartment or as a paying guest is the first step towards freedom. It's a kick, to have your own room where in mom won't barge in without knocking the door, but is that really liberation?
After finishing my laboratory work in Mumbai, I had got the golden opportunity to dwell by the sea. It would have been a dream come true had I mellowed to the idea.But I decided to give it a second thought.
By this time I had accustomed myself to the eternal eccentricity that life was putting me through. From doing my laundry without a washing machine to eating the soggy bland food to having no one to crib and chatter with in malayalam.

This is the first time that I had realized how important mom is, and why I haven't felt the need to have many friends, because she was always there for me. My unwelcoming absence had warmed her to the fact that I had the rights to stay single until it won't happen for love, the exchanging of vows. To be a single woman on the wrong side of twenties, is like being a prick in the eye of the moral mentors of the society, who obviously are blinded by a large log and won't bother to take it off from their own eyes. The tiny speck in my eye will give them sleepless nights until I do not allow them to do the honours of taking it out for me. Our society is thriving on this one golden rule, where in living and letting live is not traditionally acceptable.


                                 Picture Credit:

The propensity to the idea of getting back to delhi crawled into my mind, when mom started complaining of leg pain again. It was alarming to hear that old forgotten disorder come back to plague our lives. Her bones are brittle and she needs copious concotions of calcium to get back in shape. With my brother also missing from the action, I had to rush home. More than her bones needing calcium, she was in dire need of rigorously regulating her life style. I knew that she couldn't have done it with dad's help, since I was still her best friend. That thought was a purgative to all the wounds inflicted by a difference of opinions.
I packed my bags and headed home in February. I don't call it sacrifice, neither will I call it an act of giving up.
As they say, blood is thicker than water. I don't regret my decision at all, even if that means not wearing short dresses or not staying awake late at night reading a book or watching movies or not having my favourite pizza thrice a week.

Being at peace is sometimes more important than the trivial joys of life.

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