by Gauri Trivedi
Dear Mother,
Years ago you had asked me a simple question ‘Will you be happy’?
For you, that was all that mattered. Even if it meant you couldn’t see me for an insane amount of time, even if it meant that I couldn’t be there when Dad had a massive heart attack and even if it meant that your dreams of reading stories to your grandchildren remained, but a dream.
That question, I now realize, was what you had wanted me to ask myself. Will I be happy if I choose this life for me?
You see, the answer seemed very simple back then, a jubilant yes! Of course, I will be happy!
My husband had just been offered a wonderful opportunity to work and possibly settle abroad. We would move from a bursting-at-it-seams highly polluted city to a quaint town where space and fresh air were not limited in supply. The frustrating commute, the constant perspiration and dealing with common instances of corruption would be a thing of past.
My three-month-old baby would be able to see a lot more of her Dad since he would be back from work well before dinner time and also have the weekends off. We would have more of our own family time, something that the current city had been taking away more of, bit by bit with every passing day.
Living without having the extended family around would take some adjustment but I was young, energetic and eager to explore. We would come back every year and visit and also call the family over, the world was after all getting smaller by the day. In my mind, I had taken into consideration and tackled all the things that mattered.
On the day I left, amidst tearful goodbyes and promises to return, there was this thrill of stepping out too. The tears dried up by the time security check-in was done at the airport and my feet picked up pace, taking almost a joyous stride away, shrugging off the sorrow of departure.
But you, you kept wiping your eyes from as far as I could see and your steps quickened too, but in despair, as you moved from one glass door to another for a final glimpse. Being left behind is harder than taking leave, I had told myself then, not really feeling it.
It did not take long for me to gauge that clearly I had not taken ‘all’ into consideration. If only keeping a count of things that mattered was as easy as counting numbers, I would have not been so off the mark!
Evidently, there were things in my life that were so woven in that it was difficult to separate them and account for them, and hence predict that I would miss them dearly. Beyond our jobs, my family and his folks, I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge any other absences.
The continual ringing of the doorbell all morning; announcing the arrival of milk, newspaper, domestic help, and laundry man and trash pickup, in that order for as long as I can remember. Going in and out of the neighbour’s house, sometimes to borrow a potato, other times to deliver a bowl of food; always without prior notice, never a tad of hesitation. Trifling blisses of everyday life and I took them for granted when I had the chance.
Celebrating festivals with the rest of the clan, dancing away on the streets at a wedding, sleepovers and secrets with cousins in tow, little pleasures I expected to long for, just not so much, and once far away, they didn’t seem little at all.
There are a million such things that I can keep on writing about but essentially they can all be summed up as – my life as I loved it.
Making a life abroad hasn’t been difficult, it has been different. Change is not always bad and they say change is what makes the world go around but when an adjustment starts feeling like a compromise, you know you have lost more to gain some.
And this doesn’t happen to everybody you know. People manage to embrace the vicissitudes and slip effortlessly into a foreign cycle and as time passes, it is no longer alien. Some even claim that they feel like outsiders when they return for a visit to their homeland. You have no idea how much I envy them. Unfortunately, I kept waiting, but that never happened to me.
I know, earlier on, I should have a picked a side; being in the middle has turned out to be unwise.
After a decade of trying to break free from the constant reminder of being away from you all and the surroundings I grew up in, I have finally given up fighting it. If anything, worry has sneaked into this mixed bag of emotions, now that you and Dad are getting older and not in perfect health. I never thought it would come to this – making a choice between taking care of my growing children and aging parents. Suddenly now, I am the one who is left behind.
Despite the laments, I have done fairly well for myself here. Our family has ample time together, my kids play in the park every day, I have friends who listen and care and together we try and recreate things that we miss from back home. Outwardly, I too have glided into the routine, keeping the in-completeness in my heart from sprouting an appearance. So you see, there is really no cause for concern.
But if you were to ask me the same question today, I will probably take a while to answer.
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