The 15 minutes were awkward... all three of us were lost in our own thoughts.
The bus arrived, and I got down-it was time to walk toward home. It wasn't a long walk. Just as I stepped off, the man who had been sitting behind me also got down. Maybe he lives here too.
We both walked along the quiet road. On either side, long green rice fields stretched out, swaying gently in the breeze-like they were dancing with the wind.
He walked behind me... just a little distance away. I stepped into my home-he was right behind.
My mom stood in front of the gate. "Good evening," she greeted me while looking at my face, either admiring her daughter or maybe checking if I had grown thinner.
"I'm home," I said with a smile.
But as I stepped in, it felt like I had entered a stranger's house. Everything looked different from what I remembered. The wall color had changed, the curtains were new, even papa had bought a large TV. I was searching for my own room in my own house. The last time I came home was eight months ago. I don't know what changed in these months, but the house didn't feel like it used to. New paint, new design-
But the farming and mom's chaotic ways hadn't changed.
"Where's Babu?" I asked my mom about my younger brother. He's in college now.
"Playing cricket," mom replied with that familiar annoyed tone. I missed that face-the way she stalked us for every little thing: eat more veggies, wake up early, sleep on time. No matter what's going on in your life, when your parents are alive, everything feels a bit heavier... but also safer.
"Let's eat the snacks I made for you," mom said with a smile. She looked genuinely happy to see me.
For some people, family is all that truly matters-
They're the only ones who care without conditions... like my mother does.
"Where's Papa?" I asked while munching on some sev. She was making chai on the stove.
"He's at the farmland. This year we planted gobhi and muli. They're growing fast. The cutting starts tomorrow. If the market value stays like last year, we'll buy a gold pendant for your wedding," she said with a hopeful grin.
Such a middle-class dream-
Parents dreaming of their child's future. Not fame or wealth, but a good life. A stable life.
They don't care about my success. They just want to see me settled.
Marriage... kids...
"And then we'll visit your home to see our grandchildren," she say.
"I don't know if I'll marry or not, mom," I replied.
She playfully slapped my shoulder-not hard, just lovingly. I smiled for the first time in a while.
This home... brought my smile back.
I can't describe how much I missed them-
The family, the laughter, the teasing... everything.
"I found a guy for you. He's wealthy... good-looking," she added with a grin.
And once again, I smiled.
"Mom, how did Papa agree to keep a tenant?" I asked genuinely.
Because I know my father-he hates new fashion, new things. It's hard for him to adapt to this new generation... just like it is for me.
"He's a good guy, a gentle soul. His mom and dad died in an accident. He came here to forget them," she said, her voice softening-becoming sad for a stranger.
The guy who sat behind me on the bus... the one who walked behind me... he's the tenant. He's living upstairs, in the room where I used to play hide and seek with my friends.
They've all grown up. Now we only meet during village ceremonies or weddings.
Adult life slowly turns friends into strangers.
What's life, really?
Is it truly this unpredictable... and brutal... for all of us?
That's the life cycle-birth, growth, death. The repetitive laws of nature. Every day feels the same, every year too... like being stuck inside a loop. My parents did the same things I'm doing now. They fell in love, got married, then I came into their lives. Am I also just carrying forward their legacy? Is it like some kind of virus-passing your generation forward? One generation injects it into the next, and then passes out of the system. Am I even allowed to give this to my child, if they ever come?
It was dinner time. I was in my room when Papa came home. He washed up and then asked about me from outside my room,
"Mimi, are you there?"
I opened the door. "Hmm, Papa."
"When did you reach?" he asked, taking the TV remote and turning on the TV. We never really made eye contact. We live in that traditional way where daughters and fathers barely communicate. He asked firmly, I replied just as firmly... and that's it. Then it's time to eat-dinner, or whatever.
My brother, Babu, arrived just then. His shirt was completely covered in dirt-like he had been in a fight. I didn't know what had happened, but his face said it all. He was frustrated. He threw his bat on the floor, and the sound echoed in the silence. Papa heard it, but didn't even look back-his eyes stayed fixed on the news channel.
Mom didn't react either. She kept making dinner.
I followed Babu into his room. He was changing his clothes. He looked at me, but didn't say a word.
"What happened?" I asked, concerned.
"Nothing," he replied while pulling on a pair of blue shorts.
His room was a mess. His hair had grown out-looked like he hadn't cut it in eight months. The walls were filled with pictures of Virat Kohli hitting sixes. Mahi's picture was there too. He loved cricket. He had played for the state several times. But playing at the national level? That was tough-too many talented players out there, better than Babu.
His frustration was justified. He must have gotten out today. Whenever that happens... he reacts like this.