It’s been about two and a half months since I left home; there have been so many changes since then. My sister lost her 24X7 tech support, a person she could vent out to, and the rebellious sibling she would support and fight for, on many occasions; something else also happened, the void I left in her life gave her the space she needed, to walk around and cry and pick herself up and be strong, all on her own, without me hovering over her life (albeit in a non-intrusive manner); she has started her journey towards finding who she really is and who she wants to be.
My mother found her voice, literally. She’d been learning and performing as a singer in a few programmes since the past few years. Quite recently, she joined a karaoke club, wherein people whose hobby/passion is singing, would gather together every fortnight and sing to karaoke tracks. A couple weeks back, she got her first singing gig at a party; she got paid for singing for the first time in her life. That was one big defining moment for a woman who had given up her job to take care of a cranky one-year old (me of course). She found a new identity for herself; an identity that was not tethered to her being a mother of a twenty-four-year old (me again).
My dad has been the most ambitious and the most stubborn of the lot; his story will take up at least one and a half blog post, so I won’t go into it right now. He has been the strong opposition that I’ve always rebelled against. I’ve argued with him until the point of being called disrespectful; all along though, he has kept his temper and lost it at the worst of times (just like me) but has been surprisingly supportive of my move to Delhi. No “well-meaning” father would let his Mumbai born-and-bred daughter move to a city that has been branded, unfortunately, as the rape-capital of the nation (an image which I am here to break); but nevertheless, his complete faith and trust in me is something that acts as a strong deterrent to the temptations this world has to offer. His perseverance in the face of the struggles he faced as a young immigrant to Mumbai, gives me the strength to get up every time this city knocks me down; the damsel is here to stay.
I’ve joined and left a couple of content-writing jobs within the first month of moving to Delhi because I found that I couldn’t compromise my ethics and morals to make money. Although for now, just for now, because I’m tired, I’ve accepted the blatant corruption that happens around me; I’m gearing myself up to speak out and fight against it. Every time I miss home and feel like packing my bags and taking the cheapest flight back to Mumbai, I remind myself the reason of my existence (something I found when I moved to Delhi); I want to make a positive change in the society, at least a dent, in any way that I can. I have promised myself that I will not run home or to the USA (to do MS/MBA); that I will fight to make our country a better place and I will do it in a way that I play to my strengths. I’m not made to give the UPSC exam and be an IAS/IPS officer; that requires tremendous focus and will power (something I lack) and is one of the toughest exam to crack. I’m a writer, I’m an artist; I’m a thinker, I’m a speaker; writing is the way that I can spark the minds of homo sapiens.
As I write this blog post on a comfortable Sunday morning, I miss home. Lately I’d been feeling very disconnected to my family and the city that I used to call home (Mumbai); as I ranted to my mom and sister and aunt and uncle (individually) on Gudi Padwa (which is the Marathi New Year) about how mad I was at the invasion of my space and privacy by people here, they heard me out, they didn’t give me advice or told me to take care of myself, they simply listened. That was NOT the moment I realized that my family understands my needs and that they let me just be, rather, it was today that I had this “Eureka” moment. Today, as I push past the cobwebs of misunderstanding and the non-existent cold war between me and my family, I see the picture clearly; and the picture shows me that they are having fun at Mahabaleshwar without me; I mean, come on, not now, not when I’m just starting to appreciate your importance. I’m going call my mother right away and ask who planned this trip without me; I’m sure it was her; it might not be but it has to be her. Argh mom!
My Dear Moody 