Armchair living

Many of my friends and well wishers and most of all the husband have been almost hounding me to take a holiday. Friends have suggested exotic locations where some have swanky homes, the husband has suggested umpteen options including cruises and diners in starred restaurants, the family wants me to come and 'rest' in my father's birth island - Mauritius - where we even have a home next to the sea where you can lull yourself to sleep to the sound of the waves, my grandson wants me to come to St Louis, I have homes waiting in France, Germany, the US, New Zealand and many other countries. I am overwhelmed by the love and generosity of every one and even feel it is somewhat undeserved. True the last months have been tough and trying, but I was simply doing what anyone would for the one you love. I do not deserve any kudos at all and I feel terrible not accepting all these wonderful biddings. But to tell you the truth I am beatifically content within the four walls of my crumbling home. And in this blog I will try and explain how hard I have worked to find my holy grail.

I know that many find traveling a way of escaping the day-to-day grind and recharging sagging batteries. Some need to take a break after a gruelling time such as the one I experienced. But not me. Even as a child whose parents were over the top enthusiastic explorers and lived in many exciting countries, I hated having to accompany them particularly once I had discovered the magical world of books. Perhaps if there had been iPods or the likes of them in those days, I may have relented a bit, but having to leave my room and the imaginary world only an only child can conjure, my books, my music in a word my life was nothing short of traumatic. I realise today that perhaps it was an instinctive coping strategy for a little girl who had much older parents with overflowing social calendars and a smothering love for their only progeny which resulted in very limited forays into the outside world. Hence the need to create mine. It was my comfort zone.

Rebel I did. More than anyone else and there was a time when I left my lone wolf life to try and imbibe as much as I could with or without the consent of my parents. I went wilder and wilder as I sought more and more. In hindsight now understand that I was seeking the comfort I enjoyed in my world on the outside and that could not be because in my space I could time travel, be anything I wanted and enjoy experiences that could not happen in the real world.

After the rebel came the wife, the mother etc, each with their responsibilities and commitments that had to be fulfilled as best one could. Then the blow of losing my parents and the despair that ensued as what had made my imaginary world possible was above all their caring presence. I was lost, completely lost. Only kids with nomadic lives do not have life long school friends or family ties. They just have the parents that they have to follow across the seas. When parents pass on, the boat rocks and loses its moorings till you create them again. The day I lost my father, a year after my mother the first thing that came to my mind was the fact that I would never bang a door again as there would be no one to hear my cry and knock at it murmuring words of love.

Part of my the huge hole that was dug in an instant in my heart after papa went took a long time to fill. Where do you find the kind of love parents give you, a love that asks nothing in return? You have to look hard and think outside the box. It took years of depression to find my way to what would become project why. It was the love of these children that filled the immense sense of loss I carried like a stone around my neck in the form of  a stiff collar I wore for years.

I thought project why had filled up the life of this only old kid forever and that I had come home. But not quite as I would soon realise. Ranjan's illness forced me to remain indoors and at home for a long time and what should have been a difficult if not painful experience was strangely joyful. Surreptitiously I found life coming full circle. I had crawled back to my cave and claimed my lone wolf  status again, the one where is was fully happy.

I call it my armchair living and I love it. I tuck myself in my tiny office and write to my hearts content. I lose myself in not one but several books at the same time. I travel to whatever land I want and can fly through time and space at my pace with abandon. The thought of having to tuck my life in a suitcase to go and see some exotic land is anathema to me. Actually it is impossible.

But how do I explain this to those who love me.