I rarely go home. Even when I go, I make sure I leave immediately, like within a day or two. Going home is a torture for me, where I have to portray someone different. Or just stay in my room, stare at my laptop, smoke on the terrace, when nobody is watching, sitting furtively.
It used to curtail my freedom is what I used to think, and then it became part of me, to hate going home.
Eventually, I spent more than a week at home, for a cousins wedding. I knew I didn’t have to be there for the entire week, and I went more out of a guilt trip by my other cousins than anything else.
But the week went pretty well. I loved one of my cousin’s kid, and could’ve strangled another. I did lots of work in and around the home, fixing the electrical installations, clearing up the really badly done garden, doing some midnight car washing, shopping, driving around.
The wedding was pretty boring as usual, but for a change, I loved seeing the relatives, at least the ones I know. Without being too cliched, they seemed really nice, and simple and had a child like innocence. Most of them work out of middle east, and come to Kerala during the school breaks, and hence they know how to show the love and affection.
I remember when my good friend got married, it was a shock, to know that he was even considering marriage, he took the safer route, found a girl his family would approve of, and got married to her, and thereby kept himself part of the whole relative shebang. (I’ve been using shebang a lot lately and is currently my favorite word). I understand that now, and I probably would want to do something similar, if I ever had to take the extreme step.
Of course that was the major point of discussion, when was I getting married, if I was seeing someone, if I had any problem(s)!!? I wonder if they thought I was gay.
Also I’m feeling close to my relatives, probably because of my non-existent (social) life. I tried half my life, trying to drive people away from me, and it succeeded!