Gazing through the kitchen door, I was suddenly brought back to the veracity by the screeching sound of the pressure cooker whistle, reminding me that the delicious mom made khichadi was ready to be stuffed into my belly.
KHICHADI - a kind of fried rice, which unfortunately was the dish I could try only at home due to its less popularity or may be it was the staple food of our house rather than the region. It had been a custom, since I left home at the age of 10 for studying at a hostel, to have the taste of this dish until I see home again. Like all times there it was, the combination of steaming rice, fried papad and pickle…oh god…!! I wouldn’t bet any cuisine over this combo.
I had experienced so many departings since I left home, but this was unlike the earlier ones and thought I would finally pen it down.
In my or say in every ones case the feeling, at the door of the train headed home is just overwhelming with so many or may be thousands of thoughts of do’s and don’ts. Particularly the latter thoughts have the slight chances of their coming into reality. So like every time I was home again after a gap of 2 months and had many plans starting with increasing my constant body volume which always follows the Charles law with the condition that, the temperature at Jalgaon and at Nanded is always the same.
So the first of my 15 days stay, began with un-formal greetings and a cell free interrogation by my mother based on fields related to STUDIES (which she thinks I never do and qualifies the exam just like that) , MESS FOOD( though she knows its standard has been the same over the years irrespective of any place I had been at), FRIENDS ( normally she is more interested in the female category as her innocent belief is that most of the bright students till high school, cannot make it through 4 years to the degree, due to some miscellaneous category of girls who are sent all the way to my college to find and have an affair with me and divert me from the divine work of studying for which I have been destined there to do.) and questions based on so many things which when congregated would sum up to give a detailed report of the interrogation.
Then come’s my great father who justifies the prefix “great” in his own ways. Starting with his unbridled urge to feed me as nutritious food as possible to balance its scarcity in the food provided at mess. I would not like to be at stake by readers because my father’s desire has no shortcomings for which I should blame him. But going into finer details, his idea of a perfect rather wholesome meal comprises of salad items like beat-root, radish, carrots and vegetable items like bottle-guard ( karela ), spinach, lady-finger and a number of vegetables I hate the most.
Neglecting the above described incidences, the holidays at home started off at a satisfying note rather than the perfect one. One thing which I concentrate the most after coming home is, watching endless television. It’s like when you are at hostel you have missed watching television a lot and now you have very limited time to cover up the backlog, followed by a worth mentioning incidence which takes place every time my mother passes by. For an engineering student, who in recent times has developed an unconcealed yearn for the Hollywood films or to be precise, for the newly starring female face is likely to switch the channels HBO and STAR MOVIES every time the rhythm is interrupted by an advertisement. This scenario is suddenly halted by my mother’s apprehensive face and that way of looking which surely rouses a doubt.....was she able to peak into my thoughts and decipher the reality or she is convinced that the sole purpose of watching English channels is improving my communication skills.
One more vital thing which I realized during my stay at home is the importance of friends. My shy and reticent nature has caused me troubles during the past and surely would be a problem in the near future. Every one would believe it to be a bluff if I say I do not have a single friend at hometown, but it’s a fact. Never had the habit of going to people, introducing myself and having long or may be formal chats, leaving me all alone in the house to try all the do’s which I had thought of and suddenly realizing there’s nothing left to do. Then after 4 to 5 days of coming home, I realized that I am getting damn bored.
I had finally been at a break through to this problem. I started accompanying my mother to the market on our activa for two reasons- first, when you go to the market there are lot of opportunities for site seeing, the readers would definitely be able to read between the lines if they slightly shake their cerebrum. Second, you are so much tired after roaming in the market that the popular cuisine spots don’t let you leave without a bite. But this plan too like every other had a drawback, no one goes shopping or to market every day and even if we did it would kill only 2 to 3 hours of my never ending bore-trauma.
So in this way I was eagerly waiting for my holidays to finish and return to the college where I had lots to share and listen to those filthy bastards without whom I could never have been able to experience what the college life is. The rest of my stay at home was more or the less same with one or two happenings whose effect could last no longer than few hours. As the departure date approached closer, our whole family was happy for me. I guess here’s the twist in tale. Normally during the departing, mothers are flooded with so many emotions and tears and all family members are touched so as to when will they be able to see me again? Thanks to modern day transportation otherwise the time taken to travel would have been equivalent to my stay at hostel and the departures would have been even more painful as if I m going abroad. But in my case as I said all the family members were more than happy over my leaving home as they were more irritated over my monotonous reiteration of getting bored.
All of a sudden a number of question-heads as of arrow–heads started hitting me from all directions, “have you packed your clothes?” ( though it had been a custom since 6th standard that, mother used to pack all my belongings from tip to toe after asking me to do it several times) .... “have you collected all the books?” ( brought number of books thinking I would study at home, but many times the books even didn’t need to be packed as they never came out of the travelling bag until I left home )......from toothbrush to mobile charger, everything was called upon. Finally the packing procedure like all times extends until the very last moment of leaving home, of course with a little help from my side....( actually it can be neglected as it is infinitesimally small ). But if you ask me, a person who has been away from home, may it be for any purpose would possibly be in a right position to tell you the significance of a mother. ( I think it’s getting a bit sentimental , but that’s fine. It signifies the climax of the story is nearer )
Finally I am sitting at railway station, my mother with her typical prototype questions, which repeat every time I leave home. My father totally into a different world asking me to “ shut my eyes while having mess food ” literally meaning to eat anything that is served. In the end , looking from my perspective I should be really happy over returning to hostel, where all the fun and masti awaits for me. But my feelings at this point are totally opposite, I am missing home and those bored, endless days. I feel like asking myself “ dude are you nuts? ”
Here lies the answer to this mystery.....yah as mentioned I was damn bored at home, there was nothing which could have biased my decision of going to hostel, all those workless hours I had been thinking and dreaming of going back to college, meeting everyone and having night-long chats. Then there comes a point, when all these things just don’t matter. What really feels is....when will I be able to see these two people again whose selfless concern for me has never been a question.....that warmth, blessing me its endless presence from every corner in my sweet home....that anxious voice asking me if I am really well?....though by looking at me everything seems alright.....
And that’s why every departure is always a special one……………
