Déjà vu

Funny how things come full circle. It's like that saying: what goes around--comes around (especially in matters of life). I'm talking about relationships here, specifically, the one that we (me and my sisters) share with my mum.

When I was a teenager, and going through hell--there was a time when I was sure that my mother was trying to be the worst possible parent that she could be towards me, and thus, I tried to be the worst possible son that I could be towards her. Of course, I never thought it as such; I wasn't being a jerk, it was she who had the problem.

Now, ten years down the line, things are so much more clear. I have two sisters--one who's two years younger to me (who's already happily married, settled, and is living out her dreams), and the other, who is still in the wings, desperately trying to carve out a space for herself in this world. She's eight years younger to me, and has just completed her graduation (Bachelors) and is going in for her Masters right now, after which she plans to go abroad for further studies (a bone of much contention in my house, between my mother and her).

Lately though, I've noticed a rift growing between them, something that I thought would not be possible. This girl was the same girl who would hold onto my mother's दुपट्टा when she was a tot of about 5 or 6, and would follow her around everywhere, screaming and spitting on anyone who would dare come near her to even suggest that she give her mother a break, and maybe sit with them. No, that was asking for the impossible.

When she'd grown a little more, she would still prefer to sleep with her mother (in-between her father and her, in their bedroom), and would keep one of her legs on my mother's back as a sort of a safety mechanism, to know that mum was there and wasn't going to leave her and go anywhere in the middle of the night. Dad though, always ended up getting the short end of the stick: a sore back from all the kicks that my sister would deliver in the midst of her sleep.

And then, one day, almost instinctively, she no longer felt the need to hold onto mom's दुपट्टा any longer. My little sister had grown up, or was in the process of at least, and I couldn't believe it. The nerve! How could she--when I had tried to do the same and was quashed so vehemently. How did she think she could take after my other sister like that, and so soon, especially since I was trying so hard to do it for myself. Where was my turn goddammit! And, wouldn't you know it--my mother and she had become as thick as thieves just like her and my other sister had, and I was left outside looking in once again. I wondered what it was that I would have to do to be accepted by these group of women. Did I have to become a woman myself, and if I did--I was prepared to--if it would only mean I could get the emotional support and understanding I so desperately needed.

This union lasted for a long time. Of course, they did have their ups and downs, which I would try and use to my own advantage (being the dog without a master, running to whomever called him first), and tried to be the good son and the caring brother which I thought I could be, but was always left with a sense of bitter distaste in my mouth when it was all over, and I was once again left to my own devices, neglected--stranded.

It took me a long, long while to recover from this bruising, and get back on my feet again, and even though I've not "completely" gotten there yet, I am on my way. But, there's been a slight twist in the tale. You see, now my sister has reached the age where she has become the rebel, and my mom and her are the ones who aren't getting along all that well. These two women who were practically inseparable a year or two ago are now at each others' wits. I see a lot of myself in my sister--that desire for self-recognition, to find out what she wants to do with this life, with whom she wants to be associated--and this of course has caused my mother great anxiety. She is worried, like she always has been, and for the first time I can see where it is that she was coming from for all these years. I still don't have the same perception of Parenthood that my parents do, and never will, but at least I've come to peace with understanding my father and mother a little better, and not judging them too harshly. They are my parents after all, and if I don't look out for them--who will.

So, I do the best I can, to try and balance out any of the friction between my mom and sis; this means always being the one who opens and closes the door and gate for her lately whenever she's taking the car out somewhere. Being the one who's the go-between between her and my mom to ask her what she wants for breakfast or tell her that lunch or dinner is ready. And, sometimes keeping a check to see why she isn't home in time, as my mother will call out to me from downstairs and ask me to give her a buzz and remind her what time it is.

My mom reads my blog. I've given her permission to, because I trust her enough that she'll respect my decision to write whatever I want, and even if she doesn't, I feel that now she and I are independent enough to respect our boundaries, as thin as they maybe. I don't feel the need to seek her approval at any cost, even if it means at my own detriment, and I think this is a good thing. I only wish, that when she does sit down to read this, that she realizes what a beautiful daughter she has (which I know she knows in her heart) and forgives her for whatever misgivings she's had with her. On the other hand, I can always ask my sis to read the blog and maybe make amends towards my mom instead. Or maybe ask both of them to give this a read? Well, this thing is becoming quite the family affair, isn't it. (That's India for you folks: we somehow manage to get our families into everything. Even our blogs which are supposed to be about India. Hope you don't mind too much. Thanks for listening. You're a wonderful audience.)

Walk like a man

When I was little, I'd try and walk in step with my father whenever I could. So if he'd put his right foot forward, then I'd put my right foot forward as well, and we'd walk in tandem. We didn't own a car back then so I had to do a lot of walking with him, and I always remember doing this, sometimes subconsciously. Of course, later on, when I hit my teens, I would try and do anything to differentiate myself from my parents, but back then--I wanted to be just like my father.

Another thing that I remember mimicking was to never gaze at a woman; my father would always walk with his head straight, eyes in front, and would never let his sight shift from that angle. I, being of a much more shy nature, preferred walking with my head cast down, eyes to the ground (especially when a woman or a girl would pass us by).

This became increasingly hard to do once we moved from Saudi Arabia to India, and I had to dodge the increasing number of people, animals, and all other manner of things on my journey into the outside world. Also, for the first time in my life, since 2nd or 3rd grade, I was once again surrounded by girls in my class, who were curious to know more about the foreigner who had come from abroad. Especially the reason why he always walked with his head tilted towards the ground. Some of them were even bold enough to ask me if they thought there was something wrong with them, which made me not want to make eye-contact, causing me even more humiliation than I already felt. I tried to break the habit, but it wasn't easy.

That same year, a girl named Sarwani from Japan had joined our class, and had become the talk of the entire school, and as misfortune would have it, was chosen to sit next to me. I had not sat next to a girl for most of my pre-pubescent life, and to be thrown into such a situation was most uncomfortable. My peers, noticing this uneasiness, saw their chance and jumped on it. I think I lasted a day before I went to the class teacher and complained. It was all I could do before breaking down into tears. My teacher laughed it off and said that that's exactly why she wanted her to sit next to me. I did not understand.

The following day, I'd decided that I wasn't going to take things lying down, and partitioned the desk into half, making it clear that all of Sarwani's things should stay on her side of the border, and that at no time should it cross over to mine, lest she'd have to bring her arm into my space and fuel any more controversy. I also asked her to keep the talking to a minimum, or not at all if possible. She was amused. The plan would've succeeded if it weren't for the jerk of a Chemistry substitute sir that we'd gotten for one of our classes one day, who was looking at Sarwani in a rather peculiar way. I didn't notice it at first, but when she turned around I saw that the top button of her shirt had come undone and was hanging precariously low. I had no intention of saying anything to her, but I couldn't keep my mouth shut, so, managed to give her a signal. She looked down, quickly buttoned her top, and gave me a gracious "thank you". It was sort of hard not to talk to her after that.

It's been 15 years since then and even now I am not completely over it. The inhibitions of looking at a woman still linger, and these days when I go for my morning walks and see all the beautiful, fresh faces in front of me (as discreetly as I possibly can), I am still as lost as ever as to what it is I'm supposed to do. I wonder if any of the girls have the same problem, which would indirectly mean that they've taken notice of me as well, and perhaps that would be a little reassuring.