“Get a dog now that I am all grown up,” was my “pet” argument for months to convince my mother after I moved to Paris. All of my childhood she would shoot down my desire with a nonchalant “Pehle tumhe paal loon (Let me raise you first). “It’ll follow you around just as I do, albeit with a wagging tail. It’ll wait for you to get back from work,” my argument followed continuing with that analogy. When emotional arguments failed, I would pull out “Dogs help when you are coping with emotional challenges like an empty nest.” Or “Dog owners fare well on the mental health meter.” But she didn’t budge. Exhausted after much convincing and cajoling, I finally dropped the idea. May be in her head, I was still trying to make my childhood dream come true. 

So when I went back home this time around, I decided not to broach the topic and see for myself how she was doing. The first day when I landed, a flood of emotions swept me. I was going back after a year, last one being a whirlwind trip in which I got married. So really, after leaving home in August, 2020, this was my first trip home. Suddenly the house reminded me that of my grandparents. I could sense that my spirit was missing. Like the house of grandparents that lights up during summer holidays but tugs at a silent loneliness, I felt a strange barren feeling looking at my room. Of course my mother had not changed a thing, it was how I left it. But the room I inhabited looked worn and tired; longing for company and even more so a character. Wasn’t this my choice of wall paintings, some of my old books, photos and rugs! I wondered. Have I outgrown it? It just did not feel like mine. It was familiar, but not intimate. 

When you go home after such long durations, the age of your parents truly hits you. So far, I had lived in the cocoon myself and my parents were the formidable shield. They were ageing, I knew. But they were not OLD. Living with my husband, I realized how I had gotten used to a younger person around. The dining table, which always had had a bowl of medicine, suddenly seemed to be cluttered with allopathic and Ayurvedic concoctions. I found the diet regime strict and exercise regime sacrosanct. They both spoke a lot about health and doctors and less about evenings and outings. This was not the image I had. Does flying from them nest unintentionally accelerate the ageing of parents? 

While the comfort of home is unparalleled, the first few days took some adjusting. I saw the pattern they had developed and the regimented life they now led. They had jokes about which I had no reference any more. The duties were remarkably divided (something that was definitely not the case when I was around). They bonded silently – mom watched TV and dad sat on his phone – in the same spot, every night. So, with my arrival I found them trying to recalibrate their routine. There was the excitement of a new person in the house. My mom would plan our trips to Khan Market, a movie night or dining outside. The desire to break free from the mundane palpable. I realized, I was no more a part of the routine life. 

One evening mom announced that she had to attend a talk on some health issue in the morning and retired early. My mother was never someone to get up on a Saturday morning for a talk at 8 am. And that too for health issues! I found my dad completely unfazed by this announcement. He was now adept at regularly checking on her with pointed questions about her shoulder pain or new tweak in the diet, things which I now didn’t know about (this was my role till two years back!). Seeing them together, somewhere, I felt like an outsider moonlighting as their daughter.

One morning I woke up to a lot of chaos. Everyone was seeming to talk and looked harried. “What happened” I asked sensing an emergency of sorts. “One of the chicks is hurt. The crow attacked. It’s not walking properly.” And then just like that my mother was in-charge (like she always was) and started calling bird services, checking on the internet and planning for how to keep the chick safe. She seemed more worried than the peahen. While she got down to organizing, my father silently sat with his chair outside (albeit the scorching heat) keeping the chick in line of sight. And then it suddenly hit me…my parents did have pets – they just didn’t know it yet.

The house had two resident peacocks and more recently a visiting peahen that had laid eggs in one of the bushes in the garden. ‘Blue’ and ‘Rumi’ (names given by my mother and father, respectively) were too young and so neither was the father. Timings to feed Blue and Rumi were fixed. Their daily movements logged. And evening exchanges a ritual. And now the household had guest pets to look out for. Like my likes and dislikes, my mother knew everything she could read up about peacocks. She cared for them much like a pet without acknowledging. “Blue is shy. While Rumi likes to come inside the house once in a while – he is more curious” Both my parents would narrate their stories over tea much like people do for pets. I also discovered how Blue and Rumi were now the muse of my mother’s literary expeditions and my father’s relentless passion for photography. They truly occupied a space in the house…one that maybe I had left vacant.

I remember my mother wrote an article on “empty nests” soon after I left, which was followed by my “flown bird story”…but this visit I realized that nests are never left empty – someone or something always comes to become a resident. In our case, birds had flown in…