Now that I have your undivided attention, let me begin.
Going home after a long and stressful term is bliss. I mean, I can tolerate the awful traffic to the airport, even more repulsive airline food, quite often insincere smiles from pretty airhostesses (this time they were pretty and had genuine smiles –thank god !), and then finally a ride on a perpetually dug-up main road. All for that wolfish grin from mom and bro when I walk into the door. A Lufthansa moment, if there ever was one!
Things have changed. The home now has a spanking new HUGE telly (a surprise for me supposedly), the Bose belts out a Nirvana song that lives up to the group’s name and the movie collection has some more classics, courtesy of my bro’s efforts.
And then the phone rings, and my grandmom is on the line and my mom is hunched over the phone looking at me. And history repeats itself…
Lest somebody reading this think I’m rambling, which I am, let me furnish the basic facts by dipping into my favorite subject, history. Not so long ago, I was loath to let my mom listen to conversations which I entertained with the fairer sex from school. Now, mom shows similar characteristics when I walk into a room when she’s talking to grandmom. It does not take too long to find out some of the key points of that conversation.
Soon enough, while I’m stuffing myself with some awesome food and too hungry to think straight, we discuss so-and-so who decided that this was the right time to walk the aisle. And what about miss that-and-that whose wedding has just been fixed to him-and –him?
I know where this topic is going when I notice a microscopic grin on my bro’s face as he contemplates the complicated drama unfolding in front of him. If you’re 3 years younger, come what may you always have the elder who goes through it first. And its good fun for him to notice how I extricate myself out of this conversation. McDonald’s moments really exist you know, gotta be careful !
I approach the subject with some trepidation. Thankfully nobody’s really putting the squeeze on me but I know what this all leads to. The big M.
M. Potent in meaning, infinite in experience. What does it mean when I sign up for M? Is M a rite of passage? Is it Fun? Even better fun than that which I enjoyed as a child? Can I play games? Break rules? Cry? Laugh? Do both together? Do I choose my playmate? Will I get my playmate? How do I ask her?
On other things, I did some legal homework for doing some work in the field of education, especially for the girl child. It meets the thoughts that I penned in the 4 Pillars of Respect – for the unaware. Mom is thrilled with the idea and will take charge. Need to set up the legal stuff for this. Will talk to SG in my class for some help. Thank god for diversity at ISB!