Sukriti Taneja
As a child, I often romanticised the idea of being ‘independent’. Perhaps clouded by my childlike innocence and limitless ambition, the hidden battles of this righteous path to adulting were just as unclear as the roads on a January morning in Delhi.
Making the bold decision to pursue dreams, careers, and passions away from the warmth of parental love can feel selfish, as though we are trading moments of togetherness for personal ambition.
For many daughters, myself included, avoiding frequent phone calls from concerned parents becomes somewhat a coping mechanism. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t long to hear their voices or share my life with them, but the need to not unearth a tidal wave of emotions takes precedence.
Scientifically speaking, avoidance is known to create cycles of behaviour that exacerbate feelings of anxiety. While it definitely makes life much more complex and overwhelming, it keeps the guilt, longing, and the ache of separation at bay (at least momentarily).
As daughters born in a middle-class household, my sister and I were raised to be strong, independent, and courageous – traits instilled in us by our parents who were themselves brave and selfless. Their constant sacrifices paved the way for our own journeys of self-discovery, even if it meant enduring the pain of separation.
Ironically, the understanding of all that they had sacrificed to push us to our calibre and give us a plethora of opportunities unfortunately became the fuel that urges me to keep fighting to be and do better, putting aside my “daughterly responsibilities”.
I have also come to realise over time just how often we take time with our loved ones for granted. Being the long distance daughter, sister and friend I often try to avoid the pain and guilt that comes along with missing birthdays, festivals, small victories, our 6:00 pm family chai time and all the moments my loved ones don’t recall on video calls. In a world so deeply fascinated by the ‘big moments’, as humans, we often overlook just how precious the smaller moments in life are. Be it vibing to songs with your parents in the car, casual leg pulling or something just as simple as enjoying a meal together as we binge watch movies.
While most days the privilege of a fast paced life keeps me busy, on some, my guilt traps me to my bed, leaving me to blink through my tears and all my choked up emotions.
However, my father, my partner in crime and life, has always preached to me the importance of taking accountability for my decisions. Hence, against my inane dislike towards the thought, I am often reminded that missing a life I was so sure I was not satisfied with, is unfair.
With my blanket of love and protection snatched away from me by my lust for a successful career, I was forced to grow up and reach a certain level of maturity.
With this maturity came the once incomprehensible understanding of the never-ending role played by a woman. While as a daughter, the decisions we take direct our life in a certain direction – often taken keeping in mind our own benefit – as a mother, our decisions are more of the self-sacrificing nature.
Exactly one year and five months ago, as I reached the airport with my life carefully packed up in four suitcases, I was ecstatic. My excitement and joy knew no bounds. As I said my goodbye’s to my friends, I glanced over at my mother and noticed the floodgate of tears waiting to break free. While I left the house convinced that I would not cry on this joyous occasion, I broke down at the sight of the first tear falling down my mother’s beautiful brown eyes.
As I waited in the oh so crowded immigration line, I stood in awe of the dual role played by a mother. They must bear the pain of physical distance while simultaneously being our unwavering support system, our biggest cheerleaders in the pursuit of our own well-being. It is no wonder that her strength and resilience in the face of separation inspired me to keep forging ahead, even though I knew that the threat of homesickness awaited to pull me under.
But that’s not where the story or struggles end. Leaving while may be difficult, returning to once familiar places can be harder. As I prepared to return home after months, the whirlwind of emotions knocked at my door.
The anxiety that builds as the date of reunion draws near is palpable, a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Will I be the same person they remember? Will I fit back into the roles I once occupied within the family dynamic? These questions linger as we count down the days, unsure of what awaits us on the other side of that familiar threshold.
When the moment to go home finally arrives, it’s a rush of emotions unlike any other. The warmth of familiar embraces, the laughter shared over shared memories, and the tears shed for time lost – all of it serves as a poignant reminder of just how precious our time at ‘home’ truly is. Yet, beneath the surface of love and nostalgia, there’s a bittersweet understanding that this moment is fleeting, that soon we’ll have to say goodbye once again. And so, we carry their love with us wherever we go.
In the end, the silent battles of a long-distance daughter are not fought in vain. Instead, they are a testament to the depth of our love, the strength of our spirit, and the enduring bond between parent and child – a bond that transcends miles, time, and the trials of life’s journey. All of which have moulded me into the strong and capable daughter of my proud parents.