It’s hard to say- Haritha Hariprasad, Karnataka

The biggest irony in life, I feel, is that ‘every destination seems too far but the journey itself is too short’. But where is this so called destination, terminus or objective? I haven’t seen the goalpost yet.

Has anyone else seen it or even heard about it? And the distance, Weren’t it we the ones who created it? Where am I rushing to? Actually, from no-where to no-where and What is the big thing that’s awaiting me there? Well, I don’t know. But does anyone else know about it?

Destination does seem to be far too vague and complex. So let us talk about the journey, the path. Much has been said about it. I have an ambience-Journey is made meaningful by the people we meet on the way, each one telling a different story (essentially the same though).

It is the mystical thing called love that binds us to people but it’s the understanding that sustains any relationship.

Expressing your feelings or emotions is a real tough task. Often, suppressing and hiding them seems to be the easy way out. To frankly open up in front of someone, forgetting everything else and everything around you is really a challenge, I would say! To find someone who could read your thoughts and gestures – spot the sparkle in your eyes or the heaviness in your heart- catch that naughty wink or that impertinent smile, How difficult?

If I tell you my age then probably you’ll think that I am one of those gen-X or gen-Y girls who keeps muttering that ‘you gen-EX folks don’t understand me’. Umm, I wouldn’t completely rule out that possibility, but no, I haven’t been that unfortunate. Well, I am not referring to any clingy guy whom I met on facebook or someone who visits my ishtyle.com profile and comments on my latest updates or sends me ‘Good night ‘ SMS’es. For that matter, both Taylor Swift’s ‘Love story’ and the ‘twilight’ series have miserably failed to capture my imagination. I haven’t been struck by the most sought after, the Cupid’s arrow but I have been connected by a cord- the divine umbilical cord.

I knew that they (my parents) love me and understand me more than anyone else in the world but never did I know its intensity or subtleness. If in John Reed’s opinion, 10 days could shake the world, no wonder they could unnerve my world too. Comes the time when (the first time), I was away from home. There was not a single night when I didn’t have tears. Imagine that you have everything for fun, astonishing things to see, discover and learn (What we always wanted, Right) but those who would have been the most ecstatic, watching you on cloud nine aren’t there close by.

Difficult, Hard to understand? I never understood it. I never knew, that they mean so much to me. It was then, that I realised, how dependent I was, how homesick a person I was. Each time I called them, my eyes would well up with tears and even before I knew, ‘The tears’ would roll down my cheeks. During each sip out of the cup, I thought of the tea time back home, those delicious tea time pakoras that mom makes and how I used to fight with my brother to have the last one, leaving not even a drop of chutney for my mom. I did know that within a few days I would be back home and I would start missing the wonderful place where I was at that particular moment. Yet, I felt that the wait was too much and that I couldn’t bear it any longer. Even thoughts like ‘didn’t my parents wait for 9 long months to see me?’ didn’t help me feel good. Somehow I felt that it was just me who felt all this and my parents would never feel so. I was sure that they would never miss me the way I missed them. I kept reminding myself ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. But the next moment I would be struck by the thought ’out of sight, out of mind’. You see, sometimes when you are disappointed, you get the weirdest of thoughts! I kept contradicting myself, venting out my anger while washing clothes. I must confess, I was one of those who find suppressing emotions and hiding tears easier than speaking it out.

Those 10 days soon became a thing of the past and I was back home. Everything was as usual. Fights over small things begin early in the morning as soon as the paper arrives, on who gets to read it first, what to wear and what not to wear and they continue till late in the night, when my brother and I push and poke each other on bed. One day I was really annoyed with my dad. He said,” Haritha, you are so undisciplined. Such a messy girl you are! Look at your table, what a clutter, it seems? Why have you kept these here? What is that projecting out of the drawer? Keep this here and those there. I have never seen such a spoilt brat”. It left me gnashing my teeth. Later that evening I shouted at the top of my voice at my mother,”Acha simply does not understand me. I have classes in the morning and classes in the evening. When do you expect me to do all this cleaning business?”

My mother calmly said,” You can never say that your dad does not understand you. Haritha, when you weren’t here, while talking to you over the phone I could see your dad in tears and miss you. Every time he said ‘enjoy but take care’ I could sense the heaviness in his heart. I was surprised to see his eagerness and anxiety to call you every evening”.

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. I had thought that my parents were not at all emotional and that they would start laughing if I told them how much I missed them. I felt ashamed of myself. 16 years proved to be too insufficient for me to understand my parents. But for them I suppose, 16 seconds would do. I couldn’t utter a word and I really felt short of words!

The other day while I was cleaning the plates after lunch in the kitchen, my grandmother said,” Haritha, go, leave the plates here. Listen to some music or read some book. This is the best time of your life. You will never get this freedom and love later in life”. Well, I don’t know whether it is true. But if that is the case, let me be 16 forever. After all, what is the pleasure in seeking a destination so vague and obscure? It just has an element of surprise. God, let me be 16 forever.