By Ramjaane
I thought moving out would be about no deadlines, no curfews, and no rules. But it is about waiting for a plumber, paying rent and bills, waking up early to fill the water tank, and eating bland, self-cooked food. I didnt do drugs, I did dishes.
The unit a Mumbaikar measures their freedom in is BHK. B is for the parents, K is for the mother, and H is for everyone else. If you are insanely lucky (or loaded), it may be a 2BHK, and the second B is for you and your sibling, or granny, or any random aunt who is living with you. In a land where the Supreme Court recently declared that privacy was a fundamental right, growing up, we had shockingly little of it. Our homes were simply too small for such a big idea.
Which is why its surprising that Indian kids arent ready to bolt out of the door the second we turn 18. In fact, Indian kids dont move out of their parents homes when it is painfully apparent that they are not kids anymore, but are rapidly approaching uncle/aunty status. You arent supposed to leave home until you get married if you are a girl, and never if you are a guy. Moving out and getting your own space is just not a thing. If you even happen to suggest it, your parents will take it very personally. Where are we going wrong?, Kya tujhe freedom nahi hai?, Kuch kami hai?
Thankfully, my mother was only too glad to see the back of me. At 27, I didnt blame her. I was also thrilled to get out, tired as I was of answering the question Ghar kab aaoge? I got myself an apartment okay, a hole in Bandra West. Bandra West is where every young freedom-seeker goes to drain his or her bank account. I was paying ?20,000 for a studio that had 18 tiles on the floor, but hey, it was Bandra, so I was thrilled.
Independence, here I come. No deadlines, curfews, or rules. This was a life in which I would be drinking rum in the day and ordering greasy rolls at night, walking around naked, and masturbating in the living room (okay, there was only one room). Little did I know, moving out would be the most overrated thing in the world, second only to watching cricket in a stadium.
The gap between my expectations and reality was so wide, Sallu could drive through at full speed without harming a fly. Life became about waiting for a plumber or electrician, paying rent, electricity bills, and Wi-Fi bills, waking up early to fill the water tank, showers without any pressure, keeping an eye on grocery, badly self-cooked food the list goes on and on. Nothing about my life was what Id imagined it to be. The only chick I was happy to see come home was my maid. I didnt do drugs, I did dishes, because she didnt come a lot of times.
Everything that annoyed me about living with my parents felt so precious. I missed the calls to inquire where I was; nobody cared anymore. I missed being asked if Id have dinner; you stop being really hungry when you cook for yourself. I missed being asked what Id like for breakfast; I was being served BMC water for 30 minutes for breakfast. I missed a cup of tea being ready when I woke up. I missed laundry being taken care of. I missed not knowing when the dusting lady came home. The occasional party at home felt like a pain. Cleaning ashtrays which you have not contributed to sucked. Sleeping in a smoke-filled room felt disgusting. Cooking for ungrateful friends whod order because it lacked texture and flavour was annoying. Sure, it was easy for them to say, theyd just watched an episode of Masterchef Australia on a flat screen TV, the price of which they had no idea.
Aish toh baap ke paise pe ki jaati hai; khud ke paise se toh kharcha bhi nahi nikalta. How right he was, how wise. I missed my dads money. I missed a house that was always in order.
I realised once you live alone, your behaviour changes completely. Discounts on detergents excite you more than happy hours. You start keeping an eye out for combo offers on dal. You cant walk through a street without noticing if the shimla mirch is fresh. You dream of a dust-free bookshelf. You finally know why your mom and her friends always discussed maids and house helps when they met. And you empathise. You plan for where youll dry clothes in the monsoon in the month of May itself. You dont want to stay out too long; whats the point if nobody asked where you were?
And thats when I thought to myself, why do we want to do this to ourselves? Why is there such a high premium on moving out? What was so great about it? Nothing was. Independence is overrated. The only thing that beats it is doing things with my own money. This misplaced sense of confidence and adulthood is not needed. Your own money is always too less. One of those nights, as luck would have it, I met a rickshawallah taking me home who said
Aish toh baap ke paise pe ki jaati hai; khud ke paise se toh kharcha bhi nahi nikalta. How right he was, how wise. I missed my dads money. I missed a house that was always in order.
I had heard once you move out, its difficult to move back in with your parents. You drift apart. You become too independent, you get used to that life of making your own decisions and being the lord of the living room. They irritate you. Their concern gets on your nerves. But it did the exact opposite for me. If anything, it made me respect them way more. I valued what they did immeasurably. I have no idea how mom put three types of food with varying levels of chilly in three tiffins before 7 am. It sounded difficult as a kid, it felt impossible as an adult. How did they know how much money to withdraw at the beginning of the month? How did they never miss a payment? How did they run a house so easily?
I finally realised it wasnt easy for them either, they just didnt crib about it. Cribbing is a new concept. They just did things. And thats what makes parents, parents. They do things. Without asking or cribbing. All they ask in return is that I tell them when Id be coming home and I tell them most happily. In fact I will give it to them in writing on an affidavit. I will do anything just no more lusting after shimla mirchi please.
This article was originally published on Arre.
Ramjaane is a writer at Arre.