Indian families are diverse in every way, especially in how they choose to express affection. There are the boisterous, pappi-jhappi ones – and then there are the quiet, awkward-hug kind of families who pass on a strained emotional inheritance to their confused millennial children.
There are way too many essays, books, and films that give you a detailed picture of what the struggle of an interfaith marriage looks like. But beyond the pathos and drama immortalised in movies like Bombay, there exists another side to an interfaith marriage, which not many people talk about.
We millennials bore witness to the lives of our parents and the evaporated dreams they once had. Somewhere between sprouting our first pimple to driving our first car, we went from respecting them for their choices to deciding that that would not be the life we would be living.
As parents we are so quick to judge our children’s behaviour and choices, often forgetting that they are also trying to deal with an overwhelming world in their own way. Maybe, that’s the part of parenting that we need to focus more on: where we listen to our kids and embrace their peculiar choices. I never imagined that listening to a K-pop band would strengthen my relationship with my daughter.
Nobody told me that moving out of the house would mean enduring a long-distance relationship with my extremely inquisitive parents. Mom calls me every day at 7.30 am to gossip about the neighbours. Dad, in a pretence at being fake-casual cool, pings to find out what am I up to after work.
Living in another city, stuck in a pandemic, I worry about my parents a lot. When I reached home, I was appalled by their laxity: Nothing that came from the market was sanitised, masks were has-been entities, and there was a single 50ml sanitiser bottle under one roof. How do we tell our parents to be more cautious?
One day you’re the centre of your children’s universe – and then suddenly, you’re not. You’re never quite prepared for the way technology steals them away from you. They sit, their faces aglow in the light of their phone screens, chuckling to themselves. Like my kids, my overactive imagination is not my friend either.
Ever since my little sister was born, it feels like she’s strolling down a path I’ve had to gruellingly blaze with my blood, sweat, and tears. My younger sibling’s arrival was bad news, as I was going to be held up as a role model whether I liked it or not.
If you thought that all mothers are a picture of humility, grace, and unconditional love, you are wrong. Mine is a raging, swearing, warm-your-own-food kind of obsessive gamer. Currently, she’s leading her friends on stage 2,510 of Candy Crush Saga.