by Rrashima Swaarup Verma
I was all of 21 years old and ready to conquer the world. At least, that’s how it felt when I managed to secure a place for myself at the Business School at Durham University, one of the UK’s most coveted. It was, admittedly, one of the most thrilling moments of my life. Other than the fact that the university was among the most prestigious, it would undoubtedly be refreshing to finally taste a bit of freedom. As a young girl living in Delhi, I hadn’t had a lot of that in my life, which had been a constant rigmarole of deadlines, restrictions and seeking permissions which were never granted.
The moment I closed and locked my packed suitcases and said a final good bye to my family and friends, I felt a strange feeling of excitement mixed with trepidation shoot through me. This was it! I was finally going to be on my own. Free as a bird! No more constant phone calls from a harried mother every time I’m five minutes late, no more driver bhaiya to escort me everywhere I go, no more getting home before 9 pm or finding hell to pay.
So it was all settled. It was decided that my parents would travel with me to the UK and help me get settled in college. We decided to take a trip around Paris and London before finally heading to Durham University. It would have been a very pleasant trip had my parents not been constantly at loggerheads with each other during the entire course of the trip. I must give you a bit of background here: my father, having lived and studied abroad for most of his formative years, had always desired that I study abroad. My mother on the other hand, couldn’t imagine anything worse than leaving her only child – and a very pampered one at that –, to fend for herself in a foreign land. Undeniably, I did feel sandwiched between them but was too excited about my newfound freedom to dwell on anything.
The train ride to Durham was uneventful and pleasant. I gazed at the beautiful, rolling English countryside and tried to imagine myself living there. The sights were certainly spectacular and I was enamoured. Even more so after we reached Durham. It was a quaint historic university town with some truly marvellous sights, such as the Durham Cathedral and Durham Castle. With pretty, steep winding streets and leafy riverbanks, it was a welcome respite from the chaos and stress of the big cities. However, the thing that impressed me the most was the Durham Business School. World class infrastructure combined with an excellent teaching faculty and of course the celebrated reputation of the university. The icing on the cake for me was that there were two other Indian students there and luckily, they were students at the Business School as well.
The next few days passed by in a whirlwind of activity. I had to visit the Business School, meet with the Principal, attend a series of orientation programs and generally start getting a feel of the place. I made friends quickly enough; everyone was eager to get to know each other and the general atmosphere was friendly and social.
We visited the St. Mary’s College where I was to stay. With neoclassical buildings and vast grounds, it was the kind of place where I could imagine scores of laughing, happy students, living and studying. The room I had been allotted at the hostel was small but pleasant enough, with a gorgeous view of the rolling hills. My mother expectedly was not impressed. “This room is barely big enough for half a person,” she muttered disapprovingly as we looked around “And look at that cupboard! Why, you would need at least three of those to accommodate all the clothes you’ve brought!” “Well, I did think she packed far too much,” remarked my father timidly. “We can take one suitcase back with us.” My mother did not respond but pursed her lips as we moved on to the common kitchen to be shared between five girls. The cupboards and cabinets in the kitchen had been equally divided between us to store our groceries and other kitchen utilities. As we looked around the kitchen, my mother looked at me dubiously as the same thought instantly came to both of us. After all, I had never really even managed to make a decent cup of tea before, what use was a stove or groceries to someone like me?
Not surprisingly, my father visited the supermarket the very next day and brought back a bag filled with groceries. Among the usual things were three different types of microwave dinner options. “She can steam or grill some vegetables on the side to enhance the nutrition,” he suggested to my mother as we unpacked them. We tried them out for dinner later and surprisingly they weren’t as tasteless as I’d expected. In fact, they were quite a welcome change from the usual food that we ate at home.
Even though I am usually a practical and rational person, I have to admit that I did turn to procrastination at that time. It was obvious that there was a lot for me to learn if I was to survive here but I refused to even discuss it.
However, it didn’t take long for the harsh realities to take over. As the days passed and the date of my parents’ return to India crept closer, the sense of being left alone to fend for myself enveloped me. I had never been alone in the house for a single day and this was undeniably going to be a challenge. I suddenly realized that living alone wasn’t just all about the sweet taste of freedom or the thrill of doing what I pleased. It was more about actually living alone, cooking for myself, doing my own laundry, taking care of myself if I fell sick and holding myself up in moments of despair.
I was confused. I kept refusing to admit it even to myself but I was. I was also scared. But the decision had been preceded by months of careful planning, intense studying for the entrance exams and total exhilaration and triumph once the admission was secured. How could I change my mind?
I couldn’t help but think of my home back in India. My huge extended family that had accompanied me to the airport to see me off, the family cook who lovingly and tirelessly rustled up little treats for me almost every day, all the wonderful friends I had left behind and even my driver bhaiya who had been with us for years and never failed to report my exact whereabouts to my parents every time I went out. Suddenly the very things that had been so aggravating and stifling suddenly appeared warm and fuzzy and comforting. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be back home.
“There are very good universities in India too you know,” my mother mentioned to me one morning as we sat eating a delicious English breakfast in the Inn’s dining room. We were staying at the Three Tuns Hotel but I would have to move to the hostel in a few days after my parents returned to India.
“It’s still not too late. Any good university would be happy to take you.” She put her hand on mine and smiled at my father and me. “But you need to take your own decision. I don’t want to influence you. I admit that I would like nothing more than to book three tickets back to Delhi right this minute.”
She paused then to take a sip of orange juice as my father and I waited for her to finish. What she said next was unexpected. “But I think it would be good for you to stay on here after all.” She looked at my father sheepishly and sighed. “It would prepare her in a way that I never did. I know it will be difficult for all of us but sometimes we just have to take the difficult decision because it happens to be the right one. If you give this opportunity up, you may regret it years later and I don’t want you to have any regrets. You’ve worked so hard for this. I think you should give yourself a fair chance.”
She smiled at me and I squeezed her hand, total clarity suddenly dawning like a fresh new day in front of me. Yes, it was going to be difficult and challenging but since when did I start giving up on challenges? And I now knew with utmost certainty that this was what I had wanted all along, it was what I had burnt the midnight oil for and I wasn’t about to just give it up for a pile of laundry, was I? Suddenly the thought of living on my own, traveling without a chauffeured car and most importantly taking my own decisions was exhilarating, invigorating and refreshing, once again. “Thanks Mom. I’d like to stay on too.”
“But don’t think this means that you’re free to do what you please.” My mother looked at me rather sternly. “I’ll expect a call every morning and one every night before you sleep. Understand?”
I sighed. “And here I thought I was going to be free as a bird! Okay don’t worry, I’ll call you twice every day. Hey, tell me something. Would it be terribly unhealthy to eat microwave dinners every night for the next 11 months?” I smiled at my parents and they both burst out laughing.
