A blog by Anjana Sen
Home is where the Heart is, they say,
My heart beats well, deep within me.
So, my home is in my body, I guess.
It comforts, tends, and nourishes me.
My home is in my mind as well,
It makes sure I stay strong,
It helps me into any room, anywhere,
And feel like I belong.
‘What shall we have for breakfast then?’
I ask him as we wake.
‘A fat cheese omelette on its own
With strawberry milkshake.’
He rustles up lunch, while I work on Zoom,
Then sort the mid-day post.
I take a break, as I watch him make,
Some golden cheese-on-toast.
Another blistering domestic fight,
Her front door slams, and she takes flight.
In her pyjamas and slippers, into the night.
The sound of the row gives me a fright.
Do I go after her? Would that be right?
My own peace shattered, I put down my book,
And peer out of my window to take a look.
Then a crash! From next door, my own house shook.
I cower back in bed, my safe little nook.
But more loud noises, was what it took.
Can you see these faces on the wall?
The boy and girl in a tight embrace.
I know them all, figures big and small,
As they move around and change their place.
Can you read that book up in the sky?
They aren’t just clouds, what’s that you say?
Look, that’s a rabbit, a fluffy lion, up high,
Un-focus your mind, it’s easier that way.
My husband is sad today. And I realise yet again how the departure of my own beloved parents has left a hole in his world, that will remain an open wound forever. Today is the day celebrated every year when his relationship with them did not involve me.
Today is Jamai Shashti, the Bengali celebration of the Jamai, or the son-in-law. An antiquated ritualistic marking on the calendar when fish prices soar to their highest. When elderly Bengali couples spend wild sums to feed their jamai, who aging himself, incongruously becomes the deity worshipped for the day.
As a family, we mocked this ritual! My father and I were both averse to anything that did not make sense to us and tended to shred it with scorn and pragmatism. Ma would join in nervously, in this collective derision, but also make a quiet point about wanting to celebrate her own jamai, who was more of a kindred spirit to her than her own children were. And in the same quiet way, she always had her own way.