We meet to depart, depart to meet again

Arjan’s calls of “Aziz bhaji” would resonate throughout the house, a multi-generation dwelling where the youngest is nine years old and the eldest 90. The other day, he went abroad along with his mother to a new environment “to live and lead a better quality life”. But the echo of his calls to his brother still reverberates at home, triggering the pangs of separation.

We are not the only ones whose grandchild now lives miles away on the other side of the world. As the mind looks for solace, a cursory look at the social arch of similarly placed families and a quick scan on the internet present many positive results of how thousands have experienced the empty nest syndrome (even if partial), coped with their emotions, loneliness and adjusted to live a long distance away. If such narratives of departures comfort and console, they also weave an emotional web with the known and unknown to overcome the separation. At times, positive change can be stressful.

As parents, we inspire and teach our children to become independent. And when they do, they grow wings to fly to new locations to start life afresh. Once they wing away, why do we wrap ourselves in sadness? Why the anxiety, depression, resentment? Why blame or hold a member guilty of the decision to leave home? Why the emotional u-turn? If this is not life, what is? We meet to depart, depart to meet. Yet, it is not easy to find remedies and overcome departures. Time helps, heals, reveals and refreshes our memories.

Sensing the pensive mood at home, Gaurav turned to comfort everyone: “Look, Communication and information technology have cut through time and space, making it easier to stay in touch. We have email, WhatsApp, Facebook, iPhones and video calling. We’re only a click away! Come on, let’s face the challenge; the change that is beautiful and painful. Don’t get sucked into vacuous sentiments. Busy yourselves.” Remembering his son Arjan, his voice trailed as he turned to hide his own welled up eyes.

Aziz-Arjan has been de-hyphenated. There is an eerie silence at home. It no longer resonates with their giggles and laughter. There is no merriment or running around. Despite their petty quarrels, they were like inseparable twins. Now, there is no crumpled bedsheet or dislodged pillows; no food crumbs or stains of dal on grandmother’s bed that served as their ‘dining table’ where they ate and watched TV. Arjan’s boxes of toys and books are untouched. Introvert Aziz has locked himself in a cocoon. His quietness pierces the silence, as he plays alone with assorted cars but without his pal, playmate and partner. The spring in his stride is missing.

Playing cricket in the driveway every evening was their favourite pastime. They would often hit the ball across to the neighbours and argue on who would retrieve it. The good neighbours never objected. Aziz-Arjan would slyly chuckle, knowing well that the warning of their mothers ‘not to hit the ball there again or no cricket’ was an empty threat. Every evening, it would be the same. Now, there’s no cricket.

The grand old lady of the house no longer insists on keeping her bedroom window curtains pulled aside as there is no one to watch playing cricket. She sits teary-eyed, trying to focus on the devotional music from Golden Temple on TV.

Our prayer is that Aziz-Arjan gets re-hyphenated with the sweet reminiscences of their years of togetherness. Yes, we shall overcome.

AZIZ HAS LOCKED HIMSELF IN A COCOON. HIS QUIETNESS PIERCES THE SILENCE, AS HE PLAYS ALONE WITH ASSORTED CARS BUT WITHOUT HIS PAL