The Privileged One

Parents. They play a great role in the shaping of one’s childhood. But today I am not going to glorify them for a certain trait of theirs like I have done before. Sure, I acknowledge every move, decision that they have taken for the betterment of their children. Sure, they have sacrificed a lot. But that doesn’t mean they are great. They are humans. They have their flaws. They have their better sides. But I will not glorify them.

Of course I have my reasons, the one on the top is that when we glorify our parents, we tend to believe they are beyond perfect or if not so then at least perfect. How is a little kid who considers his parents as Gods, probably, going to react when s/he starts seeing a flaw in them? The reaction is that of disbelief. The reaction is that of denial. The reaction is that of a happy bubble bursting. The reaction is that of an exposed wound.

My childhood was probably way better than many around me. My parents gave me the privilege of freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of speech, freedom of choosing my friends, freedom of choosing my field of study. They also made sure that I realize the responsibility that follows. Even with their lectures on life they let me make my own mistakes. I got hurt. I learned. I wondered often, had I only listened to my parents. Yet I never blamed my parents for any wrong that happened with me, nor will I let anyone else do it. After a certain age, I am responsible for everything that happens to me, not my parents. They have done a lot. The least I can do is cut them some slack. But this idea is seldom acknowledged by the society.

I eat chicken every day. I do not pray. I question the roles of my parents in the household. I talk about the taboos. I swear in front of my father when I can find no other way to express my rage on a certain issue. I do not care about the society if it tends to cease me from being myself.

Contrarily, my parents maintain the days of eating non-vegetarian food. They pray every day, twice even. They consider their roles as associated to them by the society they live in. They do not approve of swearing. They consider societal norms for one cannot live in isolation.

Yet we live in the same house, happily if one may put it. Sure we have clashes, but we respect each other. I hate it when my mother sacrifices her desires because she has to perform the duties of being a wife and a mother. She often wishes for a room of her own somewhere far away. I hate it when my father gives up on the idea of being a change because with his age he has realized nothing will change. My mother often jests that everyone gets holidays and salaries but she works every day. And I sit between them, helplessly because they choose to be ignorant.

I never wanted to be with a man like my father. I never wanted to be the shadow of my mother. I cannot be with someone who sits in front of the TV knowing he could be of help to someone who has been working his/her ass off managing the household. I cannot be someone who suppresses her needs and desires as a woman to be a wife and a mother. But if someday I were to be a parent, then I will certainly look up to them as a team. Because irrespective of their individual flaws, they did the parenting right. At least, it seems so to me when I compare myself with others. I respect and love them for not trying to mould me in the clay that shaped them.

For a long time I had failed to understand why people around me cannot open up to their parents like I can, be it a social issue of public interest, a taboo or a personal dilemma. But now I realize that unlike many others I have always been the privileged one.