Being the youngest kid and one with a significant age gap with my older siblings, I learned to do things on my own from a young age. Hence, I don’t think I ever was a “pampered” kid. When school ended, and I went to Shillong for college, my father just went with me the first time, for admission at the college and the PG where I was to stay. In the three years that followed, I learned to live and figure life out alone; family never visited. It would sometimes make me sad, because I’d see my friends’ parents visit them, and my young heart yearned for a similar love, you know, the loud and expressive kind.
Anyway, then COVID happened, and I eventually went to EFLU, Hyderabad, for my Master's. After that, I briefly joined a corporate job in Bangalore and (un)fortunately found my way back to EFLU for a year. Once that was done, I relocated to Guwahati to pursue my PhD and after a semester there, I once again relocated to Hyderabad to restart my PhD at EFLU. In all this, there was no family to pack my bags and help me shift. I know it’s not a big deal, and I’m not making it one. It’s just that it was common around me for family to come drop a kid, help relocate, etc.
Ever since I was eighteen, I’ve been pretty much on my own, yes, money was sent, but figuring life out was my solo task, and I think I did it okay (sidenote: my elder sister, too, had a similar trajectory). But in all this, I think I forgot to acknowledge that experiences haven’t been had by me alone. I’m not the only one to step out of the comfort and security of a small hometown and go out there in the world to figure life out. Of course, I didn’t belittle friends or people I met; this lack of “seeing others’ experiences” was particularly fixated on my father. Perhaps it’s a subconscious expression of pent-up bitterness for not visiting me as often, or not making me feel loved loudly. I don't know for sure, but this time when I went to Mizoram, I felt truly humbled and loved by my father, my relation with whom has always been bittersweet.
Now, a trivia about me: I’m terrible at calling people. I’ll text you essays, but ask me to call and see me disappear from your life. My parents are Boomers who’re not as comfortable with texting. My mom can still communicate with me on WhatsApp texts, but not my dad, and I don’t call as much either. So, my interaction with him has always been minimal. They knew about this Mizoram trip, but they also know not to call me for updates. We often go 2-3 days without any updates from me, and when I call, my mum and I often talk for hours. This works for us.
Now, I reached Mizoram on a Saturday morning with two female friends from college. The three of us met in the hills of Shillong during our Bachelor's, and we’ve done some pretty crazy shit together during our youth. Adventure, things involving risk and thrill have always united us. So this time, during my annual visit home, we planned to make a trip to Aizawl. Tons of reels were shared on our group, but no itinerary was made. We’ve all been incredibly busy with life until the very second we sat on that Sairang-bound train and saw each other.
While Mizoram is a beautiful place with the kindest people, we underestimated the steepness of the hills there! We are from the plains, perhaps opting to explore the city on scooters wasn’t the best decision, but we chose that and payments were made, so we couldn’t back out either. It was a short weekend trip, and I don’t remember enjoying much…not because the place was a disappointment. It wasn’t. Mizoram is the best city to admire the hills, the passing clouds, the songs of the crickets, the cascading little homes creating the illusion of being inside a Ghibli movie…but despite having the most picturesque of views, I couldn’t relax; none of us could. Because one wrong turn and one instance of not using the brakes right would have us see the end of life in the meandering hills of Aizawl. It was scary. Very scary. My friends are skilled riders, and I trusted them, but there was a constant fear of something going irrevocably wrong.
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Anyway, it’s been 2-3 days since my parents haven’t heard my voice. I was in Guwahati attending a friend’s wedding, collecting material for my thesis and so on. I was updating my mum on text, but they hadn’t heard from me in at least 2-3 days. So on Sunday morning, when I had some time in hand, I called my mum. After the initial updates, she said Papa wanted to talk to me. The belittler of experiences in me surfaced even before Papa picked up the phone. I knew he’d give the same old lecture on being safe, not being too adventurous, etc., etc. But he began by saying, “Record the call, so we don’t have to repeat things.”
He gave me three crisp pointers, about being cautious on the road, taught me a few words in Mizo to handle basic communication with locals and then said, “If you’re in trouble, call me, I’ll give you the number of a person who’ll help you.”
I was already feeling very vulnerable. Ever since we got our scooters, the intrusive thoughts in my head just wouldn’t stop! I was expecting my father to yell at me for being too adventurous with life, but he instead gave me assurance that he’s there if I need him! My father's sister used to live in Aizwal 3-4 decades back, and he would visit her back then. He knew how new the Aizawl-way-of-commuting would be for us! Sometimes, while figuring solutions to life's problems alone, we get so used to not asking for help or seeking advice, that either of two things happens: we start believing that we know better and will somehow figure our shit out on our own; or we assume nobody else would be able to solve our problem as well as we'd do it ourselves! In my case, it was a bit of both!
There are many reasons for me to not cherish what I have with my father, but I hope I do remember the good memories of/with him too. I’ll remember to be a better human and not make everything in our relationship dynamics about past behaviour. I know it's going to be hard, but it’s not undoable!
If you made it till here and relate even a little bit to this, perhaps it’s a cue for you too, to treat your folks kindly and forgive whatever it is they did that tormented your younger self!
Anyway, Mizoram is gorgeous. Do visit!
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