That Odd Thing Called Life...And the Circle of It

I look at the mirror and throw a question, "Yo, do I look fat?" But I have no time to wait for the answer as I'm shoved away by the more persistent tugs of my two-year old. 

So as it goes, I've been dwelling on a subject that seems infinitely important and yet so fleeting and changeable that sometimes it feels like it holds no weight at all. Well, I guess it all began when I headed home to reunite with almost all of my family, with the exception of my little brother. Meeting my sister, Meeta didi, is kind of a big deal as it's not often that we get to see her and this incredible woman, a constant source of fun, love and discipline, practically raised me, so it's natural her visits bring with her a lot of sweet and stirring nostalgia.

She took the mother-figure spot for me when my mom passed away. I don't know why it is so but with each passing year, my mother, whom I love, whose voice I vividly recall when she reprimanded me, in whose embrace I found all the gleaning comfort that rumbled through my entire existence, continues to slip away from me into the shadows from where I can only hear the hum of her soothing voice, watch her silhouette at a distance working in the kitchen, and feel the rustling of her sari brush past me. But I can't place her face, well I can only reproduce her face in the pictures that we have, and I constantly struggle to put myself in her shoes, as she remains somewhat of a mystery to me. That, perhaps is the most regrettable thing of a parent who was always there for me and it fills me with grief that I've lost those pieces, and they've become irrevocable forever, not even in memories.

But Meeta didi... Her I know. Well, at least I know she's capable of looking all cool and dignified when serving you a meal but also snatch your plate away if a gagged compliment doesn't follow between the next two mouthfuls. I know that she was the only one in the family who could chastise me into behaving like a girl...'cos oh....I was a testy kid. (I mean I remember me and even I wouldn't mess with me, if you get what I mean.) I know that she, till date, lights up the moment any solemn dinner conversation takes an unlikely diversion into some form of sleazy gossip and she'll appreciate and nudge you to go on... in all the right intervals. I know for a fact that she was a die-hard fan of Nagarjuna ( a famous South-Indian actor if you're wondering who he is), cos he epitomized the tall, dark and moustached, manly men genre that her generation of girls was so obsessed with. And I know that she's the most doting, most loving mommy figure there is and even in the reign of gritting anger, she can coolly steer you out of your peak tantrum (and if that doesn't work, then God help you).

Me with my older siblings

The thing is I have always looked up at my sister more as a mommy-figure than anybody else.

So it came to me as a surprise when our relationship took an unprecedented turn. You see, up until I became a parent, my sister's life, to me, was very different from mine and a bit strange, so to speak. She was the one who woke up early to finish all her household chores, cook lunch, dress up her kids and feed them the most nutritious option of breakfast that is fathomable at 7 am; while I stayed under covers until the guilt of sleeping became overwhelming. (Well, to be honest, there are not many changes in that department as Peaches is still to start school.) The point is I've seen her fussing over her kids 24/7, chalking out their routine, being the world's fastest Indian to take a shower, even then to be interrupted by a loud whack on the door with a louder yell that goes, "Maaa!!!"; while I allowed myself a luxuriant shower with bonus time to recuperate from the horror of her disturbingly short one.

Meeta didi with her twins - Saarth and Riya

 But her chores went on...rationing out TV time for her kids, screening what they read, feeding them what they demand and probably even going to the extent of programming her sleep to be light so that she can be at her children's every beck and call. I watched her and thought to myself, "Good God, why is she doing that to herself?" "Why can't she take a chill pill?" (I know that phrase's so 90's but I'm bringing it back.) From where I saw, as a cool aunt who thought she'd be a totally easy-going parent and feed her kids dollops of ice-cream every time they were feeling out of sorts, my sister was going way too overboard.

 

Me - The Cool Aunt

But one fine day, I became a mommy and that didn't only mean stretching my lady parts beyond imagination to let out a brand new life but also going through the unspoken rite of passage from being a carefree girl to a kinda-responsible adult.... which has gradually unravelled the mystery of her life for me. Now I know why she takes charge of things the way she does. I understand why she would wait patiently to eat her favourite food at leisure and even then drop it half-appreciated to appease a ridiculously heated argument between her twins over whose turn it is to sleep on the right half of the bed. No matter how much she does for her kids, there'll always be something she thinks is missing, and even when it's way past her bedtime, and the dawn of the morning will come early and will bring with itself new challenges, she won't sleep until her kids are tucked in their beds and safely lodged in their serene slumber-land.

Me - The Mommy

Strangely, this visit of hers wasn't so much about catching up with each other or bridging the gap between the ups and downs and the mundane bits of our lives. Frankly, it wasn't the perfect family vacation. We whined about the weather that ruined all our outdoor plans, we took turns to fall sick and were completely sleep-deprived the entire week (as there was only one right side of the bed.) 

Yet we bonded, like we're finally in the same sorority or something. We were able to relate to each other as parents, as women, and as individuals.     

All of my family - except my lil brother

Mostly, it was because of our kids.

Of course, I am nothing like my sister. I am still clutching pretty hard to my old self and which is why sometimes my priorities get mixed up. Blow-drying my bangs, one time, came before scurrying off to change Peaches' wet pants, made so by her intentionally pouring water all over them. Well, later I felt terribly guilty about it. And every now and then, I let my daughter trash my living room, continue doing whatever I'm doing and ignore the mess until I trip over something, which is when I grit my teeth and really take stock of the disaster. Cleaning the house still finds itself in the bottom half of my priority list.

So yes, I'm not a model-parent like my sister. In fact, I'm still a parent-in-progress psychologically and I still have a long way to go, but every now and then I have a test-run into being a responsible grown-up, to which I respond fairly well.  And if I have trouble, I have other grown-ups - my husband and my selflessly loving in-laws and dad to put things in perspective for me.

But what marks this encounter with my sister as strange is that in a span of two years, I can feel the mommy-figure in her slowly fading, only to be replaced by a close friend, to whom I can relate in more ways than I ever thought. Despite the fact that not so long ago, I watched her and I was almost certain that I'm not going to turn into a paranoid and strict parent like her...or my dad for that matter. And yet here I am, shaking my finger violently at my two-year old, threatening her to let go of my cellphone, bribing her to perform on stage, telling her when to sleep, when to eat, and when to play.

I've often wondered, while ambling through life, when is it that we actually cross the threshold from being an adolescent to an adult; when is it that we turn into our parents? 

So this is it then. This is when I become an adult-in-charge. Just like that.

And just the other day, while I'm sitting by myself, quietly mourning the loss of the "20-something, clueless" me and trying to embrace the "I got it all figured out" 30s, my niece walks out of the bathroom, wearing the dress we bought for her, looking stunningly gorgeous and beaming at me with pride. She goes in front of the mirror and a shadow of doubt looms over her confident expression. She takes her sweet time to study herself carefully from every angle, gives me a sideways glance and goes on to ask me this.

"Maasi, do I look fat?"

And then suddenly her face changes and she's staring at me, looking utterly confused.

For I can't help laughing. Laughing hard...