I was sitting with a friend one morning. Her kid was climbing a tree by the stream. I was eating a hot omelette drenched in ghee. My friend was slicing apples for the child. I was generally asking my very talented friend about whether she wanted to freelance for an agency I was in talks with.
Don't know how but the talk veered towards family and her marriage. On talking about her husband, she mentioned something like the basic consideration you need to be a partner, "it's missing." It struck me as odd, heartbreaking, and accurate. It also struck me as an apt description of my nature.
Not that I think that I feel I lack something basic in being a partner (my partners would disagree, perhaps.) But I do think that I do lack the ability of feeling regret. I don't know why or how this trait missed me. It's not because I am arrogant, the way one is in one's youth where you don't even know what experiences await you. It's also not because I believe in the philosophy of everything happening for a reason. I used to believe that but now I am not so sure. There's a delicious notoriety to randomness also. So if whatever that has happened to me has happened for no apparent reason, that is cool too.
But I genuinely don't think I have regretted anything. I am in Bangalore now. My mum who is ailing me is in Bombay. I have no reason to be in Bangalore. I call mum 8 times every day to find out how she is. But I caught a flight to come away from her.
The other day she was very very unwell. I was worried. I planned to move back to Bombay or at least, Pune, for good. I felt overwhelmed. While talking to a couple of friends, they told me to be home with my mother because if something happened to her, I would regret it.
And that, I know for a fact, that I won't.
I have not been a great daughter. I could have been more kind and more accepting. I know that I have not done every single thing in my hands to make things better for her.
And yet of all the things I have ever felt about my situation or can ever feel, regret isn't one of them.
Many years ago, mum and I were in a resort somewhere. She was wearing my grandmother's shawl. Something happened and the shawl got damaged. My mother was very sad because it was my grandmom's last gift to her. I told my mother that if the person who had gifted her the shawl had passed on and we had learned to live without her, why must we cling to the shawl? I don't know why but my mother considered that to be very wise. So much so that nearly every few months or so, she would remind me of that and ask me how I could have that kind of wisdom.
Mom was always worried that I am too stupid for the world. I will always get taken advantage of or I can't see through people. I am too much of a people-pleaser to be strong emotionally. When she started falling sick, I think this worry was so strong that it worsened her health.
Until one day, it changed. When I moved to Pune.
When she had come to visit me, she once asked me what I felt when I entered an empty house. I told her the truth...that it felt like the bliss that came as a high form of privilege. To enter a space where you live and find yourself alone is such a blessing. That peace just washes over you like a waterfall. Everyone you love is well, but at a distance. And here you are - in a sweet haven of solitude.
She didn't understand. That's not how she sees life, home or living. But I sense that that is when she really understood that I am very different from her. That her standards of worry could not apply to my world. What she considered painful, I considered a privilege.
Many years later, I was out having coffee with my mother. I think I asked her something along the lines of whether she was happy with the family she built. She thought about it honestly. She said that while there was much to be desired, she really admired enough about each one in the family to realize that it had been well worth the while. I didn't pursue any further questioning. Then my mother told me that she really admired me for being so happy by myself. For being able to relish an empty home.
Today she is unwell. Very. And true to her nature, she is always worried about everyone. But I notice that she is not as worried about me as she was before. Of the many things I count as my successes, it is this - make my mum believe that I'm going to be okay, no matter what.
Don't know how but the talk veered towards family and her marriage. On talking about her husband, she mentioned something like the basic consideration you need to be a partner, "it's missing." It struck me as odd, heartbreaking, and accurate. It also struck me as an apt description of my nature.
Not that I think that I feel I lack something basic in being a partner (my partners would disagree, perhaps.) But I do think that I do lack the ability of feeling regret. I don't know why or how this trait missed me. It's not because I am arrogant, the way one is in one's youth where you don't even know what experiences await you. It's also not because I believe in the philosophy of everything happening for a reason. I used to believe that but now I am not so sure. There's a delicious notoriety to randomness also. So if whatever that has happened to me has happened for no apparent reason, that is cool too.
But I genuinely don't think I have regretted anything. I am in Bangalore now. My mum who is ailing me is in Bombay. I have no reason to be in Bangalore. I call mum 8 times every day to find out how she is. But I caught a flight to come away from her.
The other day she was very very unwell. I was worried. I planned to move back to Bombay or at least, Pune, for good. I felt overwhelmed. While talking to a couple of friends, they told me to be home with my mother because if something happened to her, I would regret it.
And that, I know for a fact, that I won't.
I have not been a great daughter. I could have been more kind and more accepting. I know that I have not done every single thing in my hands to make things better for her.
And yet of all the things I have ever felt about my situation or can ever feel, regret isn't one of them.
Many years ago, mum and I were in a resort somewhere. She was wearing my grandmother's shawl. Something happened and the shawl got damaged. My mother was very sad because it was my grandmom's last gift to her. I told my mother that if the person who had gifted her the shawl had passed on and we had learned to live without her, why must we cling to the shawl? I don't know why but my mother considered that to be very wise. So much so that nearly every few months or so, she would remind me of that and ask me how I could have that kind of wisdom.
Mom was always worried that I am too stupid for the world. I will always get taken advantage of or I can't see through people. I am too much of a people-pleaser to be strong emotionally. When she started falling sick, I think this worry was so strong that it worsened her health.
Until one day, it changed. When I moved to Pune.
When she had come to visit me, she once asked me what I felt when I entered an empty house. I told her the truth...that it felt like the bliss that came as a high form of privilege. To enter a space where you live and find yourself alone is such a blessing. That peace just washes over you like a waterfall. Everyone you love is well, but at a distance. And here you are - in a sweet haven of solitude.
She didn't understand. That's not how she sees life, home or living. But I sense that that is when she really understood that I am very different from her. That her standards of worry could not apply to my world. What she considered painful, I considered a privilege.
Many years later, I was out having coffee with my mother. I think I asked her something along the lines of whether she was happy with the family she built. She thought about it honestly. She said that while there was much to be desired, she really admired enough about each one in the family to realize that it had been well worth the while. I didn't pursue any further questioning. Then my mother told me that she really admired me for being so happy by myself. For being able to relish an empty home.
Today she is unwell. Very. And true to her nature, she is always worried about everyone. But I notice that she is not as worried about me as she was before. Of the many things I count as my successes, it is this - make my mum believe that I'm going to be okay, no matter what.
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