Somehow, I get the impression that I am stuck in the middle. No one has blatantly pointed it out nor has it ever proved irksome, to me, in any way. But deep down I get the uncanny feel that I am the odd one out.
My unsettling observations hardly revolve around sibling rift. It is far apart from that. Here, I am referring to my mother and daughter. Though separated by a couple of decades — over five to be more precise — they share much in common.
They share a similar streak of naughtiness and a tinge of disobedience that somehow surreptitiously seeps into many of their responses. Their eyes glisten with delight as they feverishly work through their pranks, and they flash charming, impish grins when caught red-handed in the act. The commonality between the two is much higher than me with either of them!
It was during the Covid-19 pandemic that I realised that their reactions and responses to certain situations were surprisingly similar. Their resilience to withstand the pandemic restrictions was put to test when virus cases peaked the world over.
Strict requirements to remain housebound with hardly any opportunity, excluding the immediate family, to socialise and mingle, were excruciatingly trying for them. They both thrive in the company of people and their joie de vivre bears a striking resemblance.
The pandemic woes
My teenage daughter was at her wits end with regular online learning, which meant no face-to-face interaction with school friends and a firm ‘no’ from her mother on regular requests to visit the nearby park did nothing to perk her spirits.
My mother too was not in a happy place. She plunged herself into the intricate world of quilting, spending majority of her waking hours furiously machining away with frequent zoom calls with family and friends within the city and abroad providing the much-needed respite. She too yearned for the physical presence of her friends, the human feel and the camaraderie shared when you meet over a cup of tea within the same living space.
On the other hand, I could be proudly (if I may say so myself) painted as a perfect picture of resilience and tranquillity. Though perturbed by the rising death rates and other serious consequences brought on by the virus, on the personal front I had attained a Zen state of mind.
I cherished the sweetness of the sudden quietude that had firmly established itself as the humdrum of our daily existence. This way of living was a far cry from what I was ever used to, but I had no complaints. The imposed solitude was warmly welcomed after the storm of frenzied action that had engaged me on the professional and personal front.
Like my mother and daughter, I too am extremely fond of people. I enjoy people from various backgrounds and cultures and listen in complete rapture as they recount their anecdotes through the journey of life. But through the years I have begun to enjoy my own company as well.
Where the difference lies
And that is where the difference lies. I have gradually grown to enjoy the quiet space that solitude offers to ponder, meditate, recharge, and get moving. Quite often, I find it less judgemental, non-controversial and it allows me to be what I want to be at that moment.
Now, that I have gradually begun entertaining small groups of friends, my mother and daughter wear broader smiles. Recently, as I busied clearing the dishes after a delightful evening spent with close friends, my daughter exclaimed that she had a refreshing time and that the home felt alive when people were around.
Her comments did not end there, and she quickly piped in her suggestion for future improvement. She asked if we could invite more people the next time round. My mother too agreed that inviting three families did not fit their definition of a party!
As I delved deeper into the matter, I began to realise that my role here is akin to jam that is thoroughly enjoyed when generously spread between two slices of bread. Like jam, I guess I too sweeten the beautiful bond between my mother and daughter. Thanks to this refreshingly positive perspective, I don’t feel like an oddball anymore.
Seema Nambiar is a freelance writer
