Its been 12 years since I have left my parents’ house (5 of which I have been blissfully married) but in my mind my home has always been here. And its because my mom’s abundant love (in the form of hugs, kisses, cooking, shopping, etc.) and care are here and my dad’s resilient support and faith are here.
Coincidentally, my parents’ apartment building’s name is Paradise and it is indeed one, where I feel very peaceful because of two reasons – a) here I function on auto-pilot, I don’t have to plan anything or worry about what to do next. My mom’s established routine, the familiarity of her ways and the fact that I don’t have any responsibilities or any household decisions to make here, just lifts an invisible burden off my mind; b) it brings back so many memories of childhood that in its throes, I forget to worry about my work or other commitments.
Last week, my husband was here visiting my parents. One afternoon we were sitting inside my room and I just turned around and told him that my dad’s back from office and he surprisingly asked how I knew. I told him that I heard his keys jingle in the hallway. My husband teasingly said, “At times, when I speak to you standing right next to you, you fail to hear but this faint jingle, you heard!” And to that, I replied with a broad smile, “instinct that is born out of years practice, put in so many years and see how I read you darling!” 😉
During school days, I remember, me and my sister, we used to eagerly wait for that jingle and though we knew my parents had the keys, we used to run to open the door. And there were times when we were making a mess of the house, so we used to keenly watch out for the jingle so that we could run and fix things before getting caught 🙂
For me coming home is this happy cackle of extremely loud talking and even louder laughter filled with lots of reminiscing. And over the years, coming home involves a lot of long talks with mum – shopping with her, learning a bit of cooking from her, a bit of gossiping, and lot of heart-to-hearts.
As I head back to my other home (the one I strive to make like this one – full of love and warmth), I pack my bags with a heavy heart but also with the hope that someday when my parents come to my home, they will feel like they’ve come to “Paradise”.