πππ―ππ¬π‘π’'π¬ πππ
The sun rays seep well into my room. I'll be able to plant some herbs by the side of this French window.
"Manaa!"
Suddenly, I heard my mom's voice as it tore through my thoughts and brought me back to reality.
"Manaa! Kokhon theke dakchi toke!"
(Manaa! I'm calling you since a long time!)
My mom yelled as she placed my towels and toiletries into one of the small, wooden cupboards provided by the hostel.
"Hain maa, bolo."
(Yes Mom, say.)
I replied as I walked to her and sat at the edge of the single bed. The mattress was newly placed and still had its plastic wrapper on. Just middle-class things!
I came to Delhi to escape these petty things, but I guess some things don't change. I also don't want the mattress to get dirty any time soon.
"Listen, I've placed all your bathroom necessities in this cupboard and your snacks beside it." She took a pause to breathe and resumed. "Manaa, don't over-consume them, okay?"
She explained as she unpacked the rest of my luggage.
"Hmmm..."
I hummed with a nod, but deep down, I know how long they'd last. She continued instructing me.
"Manaa, these are just backups, baccha. I'll be sending you dry fruits and nuts when I get home. Don't eat too many of these. You know they're not good for you, right?"
"Mumma, I can order those myself. You don't have to do that."
I tried intervening. My eyes wandered to somewhere else.
"Of course, you can. After all, you've become a grown-up. Now you'll live by yourself. Independent lady, hmm?"
She teased me as her eyes welled up. I couldn't control my tears either.
"Awww, mumma..."
I got up and hugged her tight as she reciprocated it with equal intensity.
Even though I'm thrilled to start my new adult life here in Delhi, I've already started missing my home and my family. That one-bedroom quarter and the average toilet had somehow conquered my heart over the nineteen years of my life, no matter how much I wanted to leave them.
I'll miss my Mumma the most. She's been my pillar of strength throughout. Even when I suddenly decided to pursue culinary arts, she was, of course, shocked and disheartened at first. After all, a straight-A student belonging to the science stream is taking such an unconventional decision. But eventually, she agreed but her taunts never left my life. Well, I'm used to them. Haha!
Throughout my childhood, I was encouraged to pursue science, and when I took science in the eleventh grade, I was inspired to choose engineering. Rather forced.
Amar mey Joint Entrance er preparation korche!
([My daughter is preparing for the Joint Entrance Examination.)
My father used to boast about my coaching institute ranks in front of our relatives. But little did he know that I was struggling so much there that I opted to cheat on my exams just to see that 'pride' I had always longed to see on his face.
My father has always been an absent father. Unlike most daughters, I've never been aΒ 'papa ki pari.'
(Daddy's little princess.)
Even though he did everything he could to give me the best resources, we never really bonded emotionally. I've seen him show more affection towards my brother, and despite trying to ignore it, I secretly wish he'd see me the same way.
"Did you understand what I said? Kothai hariye jaash, tui..."
(Where do you get lost...)
She sighed and went to put the last set of clothes inside the wardrobe, neat and clean- as if I'd be wearing any of them.
At this point, she's so accustomed to me getting lost in my thoughts that she doesn't even get mad anymore. She's just worried about how I'll manage everything on my own.
So, where was I? Yes, my father.
I remember how ecstatic I was when I secured first place in an English Olympiad. I ran home to share the news. My mom was happy but too caught up with office work and household chores to celebrate much. The same went for my father- busy with office, household responsibilities, and...chilling with his friends.
"Good, good."
They said briefly before returning to their tasks.
But I clearly remember one time when I did poorly on a social sciences exam. My father spent an entire hour lecturing me on how my study methods were flawed, how I was negligent, and how I hadn't worked hard enough. It felt like an endless stream of criticism.
On the other hand, my mom was a bit more compassionate. She explained to my father that the shift to a new school and the change in education boards were the real reasons behind my struggles.
"Listen, Manaa."
She began as she sat in front of me after setting up my room completely, bringing me back to reality.
"You've come here by your choice. Do you know how much it hurts your father? But what's done is done. Since you're here to pursue cooking-"
"Mumma, it's culinary."
I tried defending to which she rolled her eyes.
"Okay, culinary. Since you're here to pursue culinary, do it well and make sure you excel. So that you end up with a good job, alright? I know you want to start your own business and whatever 'creator' dreams you have, but you also have to remember that your brother's education is left. We need to fund him. Plus, living in a metropolitan city is expensive. We need to fund that too! We can't promise to invest in your idea right now."
"Mumma, I'll get a job while I study."
"In this unfamiliar city? What will you do? You don't even have a degree yet."
I'm planning to work part-time in cafes or as a personal cook at someone's place to support myself. I'll save the money they send and invest it later into my ideas. But I can't let them know what I'm planning because if they get even a hint of my intentions, their overprotective instincts will kick in. They'll probably want to take me back to that small town and enroll me in some local college with a mainstream subject.
"So, listen carefully. Work super hard and prove us wrong. Show us that your decision's right and our doubts were wrong. Okay, baccha?"
She ended with a kiss on my forehead, and I smiled nodding at her.
My mom is a flip. She can be all supportive and understanding one moment, and then completely different the next.
Suddenly, the door to my small room unlocked, and I saw my younger brother and father walking in with more hostel necessities they had bought from the nearby market.
He placed the items on the wooden table, also provided by the hostel and sat on the nearby chair.
"Uff! Dilli te ki gorom."
(Uff! It's so hot in Delhi!)
I quickly handed him a bottle of water. He took it from me and passed it to my brother who gave me his usual smirk, clearly trying to irritate me, while chugging the water. I rolled my eyes at him and focused on what my parents were discussing.
"Manaa-r jonno ekta cooler kinte hobe, bolo?"
(Should we buy a cooler for Manaa?)
"Order kore dao."
(Order it.)
My father casually agreed. He's always been like this- readily agreeing to buy whatever's needed, though it often comes after a hundred reminders and usually when it's already late. This is just how he is. Financially supportive, but emotionally...well!
"Kono dorkar nei, baba. Second floor-er janlar hawa r fan diye hoye jabe."
(No need, Dad. The breeze from the second floor and the fan will be enough.)
I suggested, already feeling guilty for causing him disappointment. I didn't want to add to it.
"You don't have to worry about all this. Just focus on your studies and what you're here for. I hope the end results are good!"
He declared.Β This is so him!
Eventually, we occupied ourselves with random discussions, packing and unpacking, and hostel formalities until evening arrived and it was time for them to leave for our town.
My mom started crying for the umpteenth time, but I had already run out of tears. My father was also visibly sad, though he tried to mask it. My brother, as usual, was indifferent- playing video games on his mobile phone.
I hugged my mom tightly and comforted her. She managed to steady herself and said.
"Manaa, take care of yourself. This is Delhi. Never travel alone. Best, don't leave the campus unless absolutely necessary. Always move in groups. And, take care of your health. There's a gym inside your hostel- please use it. Lose some weight. It doesn't look good on you. Not at all. Sometimes, let a bit of self-awareness seep in."
As we said our goodbyes, our conversation inevitably ended with a focus on my weight. Tears welled up in my eyes, not because I would miss them, but because they never truly understood me.
I had always strived to be the ideal daughter in their eyes. I never did anything that could bring them shame- never touched alcohol, never smoked, never wore shorts, and never stayed out late at night. I followed all the rules, hoping to earn their approval. But despite my efforts, none of this seemed to matter to them. Instead, my weight became their focal point. My mom always brought it up, taunting me about it. It wasn't just about the weight. It was the feeling that, despite all I did to meet their expectations, I was still not enough.
My father stroked my hair lightly to somewhat comfort me.
"Bhalo bhabe thakbi, maa."
(Take care of yourself, dear.)
He said softly.
I hummed, wiping away my tears.
Soon, they left in a taxi.
I walked back inside the hostel and started climbing the stairs to the second floor, my mind flooding with thoughts from my recent conversation with my mother.
I was utterly exhausted from hearing about my weight. Not a single day at home went by without her commenting on what I ate, how much I ate, my routine- everything and anything.
I was so done with living under their scrutiny that I had been longing for this day when I could finally live on my own, in peace.
I remember her last words before the taxi drove away.
This is your home for the next four years. Stay safe.
This is my home forever. I'm never going back to that cramped little town. I had promised myself that when boarded the train to Delhi.
I reached my room and locked the door behind me. The mirror, placed directly opposite the door, didn't hesitate to reveal my harsh reality.
Chubby cheeks, heavy breasts, protruding belly and thick thighs. Pathetic!
They say our minds distort our perception of mirrors, but sometimes it feels like the mirrors distort our minds. I hate mirrors. They show me my reality that feels ugly and hopeless. All that dreams I make up in my mind while reading dark romances shatter under the harsh reflection of who I truly am.
I came to this city with lots of hopes. I hope I don't have to live the life that I was living since birth, anymore.
.βοΈ άΛ