The Transition

I remember a few many years ago, I had to quietly snoop out with my boyfriend (now ex) to Shimla. I hadn’t got permission from my parents and those days I didn’t care whether I was doing the right thing by going anyway. Freedom at 18 was my fundamental right, I had thought. Memories of the two-day holiday in the Himalayan woods were fabulous, until the day my parents found out (through the protruding personal diary.) They felt cheated and I, repentant. I had then promised to abide by whatever they chalked out for me- whether it was going out with friends or going for an evening walk.

It’s been a few many years since then and now I live alone. My parents have chosen to reside in a far eastern country, where sign language is the only way of purchasing daily vegetables. In these four years, I can’t remember the number of times I have chosen to go out drinking or out of town with friends and boyfriend. And unlike those few many years ago, all I had to do was inform my parents that I would be out. I never asked for permission and they never protested.

The “ask” soon transitioned into a “tell” and I don’t remember the last time I sought permission for anything I did. My father’s cringing words stating “It’s your choice if you want to go. I’m not going to say anything more,” have progressed to “Go have a ball.” Was I 21 or 22 or 23 years of age when it all began to change? I was an adult at 18, but never quite one for my parents. But overnight, I turned into a mature grown-up for them, the day I began living alone in city they thought was too fast for their liking.

But I realise I haven’t grown-up all that big. I am still my parents’ little daughter and that it might be too unfair to rid them of the right of making my decisions. Especially, when they are far off and have for this long never allowed me to feel burdened by their decisions. It’s the burden of conscience that now makes me want to make those small efforts to de-alienate from the invisible umbilical chord that my parents never let go off.

I have a small surgery day after tomorrow and whether I like it or not I am going to do exactly what they have asked me to do. Take five days off from work, get two aunts to take care of me and call up my parents twice a day. Not too big a price for freedom, I say.